LIBRARY OF C ONGRESS. 

Shelf '..1^.^ O'i- 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE 



OTHER POEMS 



O 



J. D. VINTON 




'i O 



PHILADELPHIA 

J. D.VINTON & CO., 906 RACE STREET 



1891 






Copyright by 
J. D. VINTON, M.D., 

1891. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 
SHADOWS FROM LIFE 9-72 

Miscellaneous Poems. 

The Public Buildings 73 

Youth's Pleasures Lost. 79 

Mother 80 

Spring Leaves 81 

Memory's Song 82 

To John Greenleaf Whittier 85 

What I Heard on Sixth Street 86 

Safe Guidance 89 

Summer Heat 90 

Moderation 93 

Life's Seasons 94 

Mysterious Spring 96 

Beauty -. 97 

August 104 

Somewhere 105 

An Ocean Kevery 106 

Life's Calendar 110 

Fount Divine 112 

Summer's Return 113 

When? 114 

3 



4 CONTENTS. 

Miscellaneous Poems. page 

Where? 117 

The Ship from Sea 119 

I Cannot See 121 

Unanswered 124 

Myself 127 

America 132 

Quiet Eve \ii 

Spring Delayed 136 

The Wanderer - ... 137 

Shakespeare 145 

Boating 146 

To W. F. Decker, Sr 148 

A Comparison )49 

Contemplation 150 

Reflections 15i 

To Walt Whitman 156 

Two Reflections 157 

Brotherhood 158 

To June 159 

Kindness 160 

A Paraphrase 161 

The Modern Critic 165 

Changed - 169 

Down in the Dingle 171 

Lost Inspiration 172 

The Bright Side 173 

Acknowledgement 175 

The Greedy Beggar 177 



CONTENTS. 5 

Miscellaneous Poems. page 

To Oliver Wendell Holmes 181 

Love Lost 182 

Love Returned 183 

Bugbears 184 

Christinas Bells 185 

My Days 187 

Restoration 188 

Sunset 190 

The Day After My Fifty-Eighth Birthday . . . I{i2 

A Christmas Song 193 

L'Ange et 1' Enfant 194 

The Angel and the Child 195 

La June Fille et 1' Olseau Envole 198 

The Young Girl and the Escaped Bird 199 

Truth 202 

Spring Beyond 205 

Epigrams 208 

Fate 209 

The Broken Ring 212 

Noon 213 

The Stars 214 

Epigram 215 

What Have I Won 116 

The l3isappointment 117 

Baby Rose 221 

A Mystery 223 

From the Heart 225 

The Rider and the Bodensee 229 

Dreaming •. . . .233 



6 CONTENTS. 

Miscellaneous Poems. page 

Bergidyle 234 

A Mountain Idyle 235 

A Prayer 240 

Enigma 241 

Das Kind der Sorge 242 

The Child of Care 243 

A Heart Like Mine 246 

To My Absent One 247 

Out of Its Nest 249 

Imitacao Anacreontica 250 

Imitation of Anacreon 251 

Epigramiua 252 

Epigram 253 

To a Caged Bird 254 

My Fifty-Ninth Birthday . , 256 

The Dead Old Year 257 

Winter 260 

Speechless 261 

Satisfied 263 

Good-By To All . 264 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



RECOVERED PAST. 

Now daylight fades. The time for fairy dreams 
Comes o'er my soul with all its magic power, 
And, from its loved retreat, its flashing gleams 
Burst forth as slowly fades the twilight hour. 
The Muses, from their spheres amid soft dews. 
Sweet voices mingle to inspire the soul 
For coming visions and celestial views. 
Unfolding, though no hand unbinds the scroll 
The Great Eternal Mind from life transcribed. 
Ever gliding Fancy, by no errors bribed, 
Through ages past, though dark, can find its way. 
Forgotten scenes, by man long since forgot, 



10 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

Like orbs celestial with a wandering ray, 

In that dark past discover some fair spot 

Where they have dwelt. Up from that region dark 

A mystic form pursues its silent flight, 

With wings wide spread, like some incoming bark, 

Now in a mist, now day, now dark, now light — 

Adventurous form — by prosperous winds impelled 

O'er dark, unsteady seas— Recovered Past! 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 11 



II. 

THE PUTUKE. 

Prophetic visions from the future cast 

Dim shadows back upon the present swelled 

From both extremes with ever varying wave: — 

In convolutions through dark passions led, 

Steal softly now — now fiercer current brave, 

Alone, unguarded, when all else hath fled. 

Sweet visions from the past and future blend — 

Days gone, fair childhood days, when greater things 

By small set forth to fair theatrics tend ; 

Days 'mid the would-bes childish vision brings; 

Great fortunes built with one small wish ; 

A name on some tall pinnacle of Fame; 

A millionaire whose servants sip a golden dish — 

They come and Memory tells us whence they came. 



1^ SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

III. 

MY WINDOW. 

Now through my window looking o'er the west. 
See mountains dark their somber forest peaks 
Lift up — black, shaggy forms, cold and unblest — 
Amid the mellow twilight's melting streaks. 
Hark! how the winds, from some lone grot set free. 
Sway to and fro their disappearing forms ! 
They rise or sink the heavens! Amid the sea 
Of light etherial waves, see how the trees 
Surround the dreamy, empyrean throne ! 
Sad voices rise to swell the stirring breeze 
With mournful requiems for those alone 
Who 'neath night's mantle find a night's repose. 
O wandering Sprights! to heaven thus lifted high, 
In fair Arcadian fields where ^olus blows 
His softest strain, where Sylvia heaves her sigh. 
Can ye not here once more your places find? 
Must ye forever leave a world behind? 
While Twilight, softly quivering in the *west. 
Is charmed by Ida, or Albania— Pan 
On famed Olympus, or on Ossa's crest. 
Will ye not cast one lingering smile on man? 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 13 

IV. 

TWILIGHT. 

Down, down the western slope in Phoebus' train, 

Twilight, in bright array, unchecked, slow sinks 

From the empyreal heights, where shadows chain 

The sea, where Sol his daily portion drinks. 

No pleasing sound— save Zephyrus murmuring low 

Soft music on the ear, as, 'mong the trees. 

With lightsome, graceful step, now fast, now slow, 

He walks the forest round with godlike ease — 

Bursts from her train. Bright stars come peeping forth 

With blushes, as she gathers from the north 

Her Vestal robes now moist with sacred dew. 

Fair Venus, brightest of the starry train 

Beneath her folds secured, resplendent grows; — 

Springs forth with beam refulgent, nor in vain 

To stand amid the throng that ever glows 

Round Luna's silver throne. To heaven the blushes 

Of Eve's last crimson ray for quiet rest 

Return, and Mincius, hemmed with banks of rushes, 

The jewelled heavens bears on its peaceful breast. 



14 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



DARKNESS. 

Thus daylight dies and twilight glimmers fade: 
Thus man expires— an inmate of the grave! 
Life's feeble dust, by time still feebler made, 
From slow decay no earthly power can save. 
From youth borne swiftly on, white hairs betray 
The darkness of that home where hoary heads 
Find long repose in coffins; where Decay 
Reigns monarch of the grave, aYid boldly sheds 
Contagious mists o'er all the mortal frame. 
Oft marked by Death, the young no hoary hairs 
May trace, no honored age, no fear of shame 
For life long spent mid multitudes of cares 
And common ills:— but, playing oft in sin, 
Bring o'er the tomb a mist they well may dread ; 
And thus subdued by one so sure to win, 
Regret the doom that marks their narrow bed. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 15 



VI. 



AN ENEMY. 

Wasting Disease its strongest power may send — 
Consumption, Hydra-formed, with torturous train. 
And round both old and young its coils extend 
Still tightening; and with deadliest fang retain 
Its prey, while they behold life's sluggish stream 
Ebb out its tide, as if in shadowy dream, 
Entranced with hope, or sadder made by fears, 
As strength revives, or lower still declines: — 
Or, Pestilence, swift-footed, swelled with tears. 
Impelled, by heavenly breath skill ne'er confines. 
O'er every land where that Eternal Mind 
Which governs all may please direct the way — 
May walk a conqueror and never find 
Its venom spent, though toiling night and day. 
Unceasingly its poisoned arrows fly 
Amid dense Crowds of men in cities found, 
Where venture strikes as doth a practiced eye; 
Or up the hillsides turn, where rural ground 
And mountain air their bold approach repel, 
And send them back to sweep the winding dell. 



16 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



VII. 

INTEMPERANCE. 

Intemperance comes with his bloated face! 
Deep bhishes mark his coming, well to shame 
The haggard eye sinking in Death's embrace. 
With swaggering tongue astir, and reeling frame, 
He totters; or, perchance, unmanned, is laid 
In ditch or muddy pool by some high way; 
Or through the streets b}' quizzing winds betrayed, 
His fluttering rags loose dangling round him play. 
He, too, a man not old, though tender years 
On him have marks of manhood fastened, bows 
With menial grace insensible of fears 
In Bacchanalian riots, and still vows 
His claim on man as human still in form, 
With rights for sympathy while in the storm 
His own blind passions raise. Abroad, M home, 
Within himself, no comforts e'er invite. 
Sneers, scorns, reproofs, like furious demons roam 
In direful wrath around him, and despite 
His plaintive cries when Reason has control. 
He deeper sinks within the shade so dark. 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 17 

Nor hears his children cry, nor that poor soul, 

Despised, heart-broken one, Death's quivering mark. 

Whose wants with untold power, ask for a share 

Of that young love so long has gone astray. 

Oh! wailings still the winds of heaven bear, 

And every hour they pass some castaway, 

Some foundered ship on life's unsteady sea — 

On billows of temptation tossed, so fair 

As seemed at first from every danger free. 

But lost at last, and gone — we ask not where! 



18 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



VIII. 

POVBRTY. 

Now near akin, in rags, with vfssage gaunt, 
Comes Poverty, slow striding through the street, 
Impelled to flee awhile from Misery's haunt, 
Limping rough-shod, or bare the dirty feet, 
Dependent on Dame Charity for food — 
Or what may serve to fill the inner man — 
Himself to nourish and his hungry brood. 
The rich man's heart he tries as best he can 
By calling at his door; or, where may cross 
The various streets, and tides of population flow, 
He stands to beg, and mourns the seeming loss 
Of sympathy, as wants more urgent grow. 
Obedient to his sense of courteous form. 
His slouching hat with concave top, well aired 
By slits and holes, where raindrops in the storm 
Run down to streak his face with smut impaired, 
He doffs, and bows his head with tangled locks 
O'erspread, in thanks for ever}^ pittance shown. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 19 

If from within no hunger calls are heard 

From stifled passions — which, like cormorant flocks, 

Must, in their wants, to others be preferred — 

The crumb into his filthy pocket thrown 

May soothe his children's cries, and save from toil 

His hands so fond of ease. Let those who will 

Direct the plow, and sow, and stir the soil; — 

All must be fed though he's a beggar still. 



aO SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



IX. 

CHANGED. 

Home, home, dear name, and home of all that's dear! 
How changed ! In yon low hut four window panes, 
By nails confined, mid smoke and dust appear; 
Or, cracked by dangling boards loosed by the rains 
Or winter snows, are filled by rags or hat. 
The squalid children through the creviced door 
In rags and filth stand peering, and in that 
Foul stench receive the crumb, and cry for more. 
The wife— strange name in such a place— scarce bears 
A livid hue, but turns her glaring eyes 
In agony, and fierce from eating cares. 
The little ones around her cling and cry. 
Half-starved herself she gives them all, and weeps. 
Her cheeks, once plump and fair, now jagged stand; 
And in their furrows how the tear-drop sleeps! 
How on her lips would feel liOve's once fond kiss 
She cannot tell, for now no gentle hand 
Receives her own to give such heavenly bliss! 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 21 

X. 

PLOTTING. 

And yet once more we see a vision rise, 

Of fearful import in the life of man, 

Who prides himself in Reason. Far more wise 

Than beasts, or other creatures in the plan 

Displayed by the Creative Mind, he stands, 

Boasting of liberty; nor will his hands 

Proportionate obedience yield; but wild 

And reckless, cares not he for others' good, 

If will can only rule the grown-up child. 

In idleness he blusters without food. 

And daily grumbles that his lot is hard, 

And others will not feed him. Sorely pressed 

For what he needs, he fears no social guard — 

For he has none— and others do their best 

To meet life's straitest call. Thus thinking, goes 

He forth emboldened much, and round him throws 

The web of strange deceit— the very form 

Of laziness — more oft by night than day. 



33 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

With human feelings chilled, but passions warm. 
While in some corner or some lone by-way, 
He frames his evil; — plotting on the street 
The foul imaginings of demon hearts 
Against some home, or those he first may meet. 
The torch, or the assassin's pistol, starts, 
At dead of night, a hamlet's sweet repose. 
On through the streets the bold official goes 
For him who swells the stream of human woe, 
With justice armed, and seldom fails to know 
The culprit, be he hid in haunts of vice, 
At large in field or wood, or by a friend— 
Himself to damn just for a paltry price — 
As mean as he, in some dark garret penned. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 38 



XI. 

THE CULPRIT. 

But see him now in some low dungeon chained, 

Awaiting but the issue of his doom ! 

He is a man in form, as such complained 

Of his hard fare. He feels the narrow room 

He occupies is cheerless as the tomb. 

The iron grates in strength his own exceed, 

And through them daylight doth but faintly steal, 

Scarce showing how the wrists and ankles bleed 

Where grasping fetters mark the felon's seal; 

And 'tis because his lawless passions feel 

They will be free. He knows the fearful end 

That must o'ertako his crime so foul and rank 

If he escape not. So the law must bend 

That Justice, in her count, may draw a blank. 

High prison walls, and iron bars and gates 

Oppose his freedom; guards pace up and down 

The corridors; but cunning animates 

His soul for bold escape and world renown. 



34 SHADO W8 FROM LIFE. 

Alas, the wicked man ! Though smart he be, 
'Tis rare, indeed, escapes like this are made, 
When crimes that smoke with human blood can see 
The heartless felon, and its will obeyed. 
Oh, that it might be still more rare that one 
Who thus befouls his hand with brother's blood. 
Should e'er escape from the avenging flood 
That swells with Justice when such deeds are done. 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 26 



XII. 

TO-MORROW. 

Oh, look into that cell! What does it mean? 

Why fall such tears? Why heaves that groan — that 

sigh, 
At this dark midnight hour? What does it mean? 
In agony like this a mortal seen? 
To-morrow — oh, to-morrow he must die! 
He bows him o'er his humble bed of straw, 
But sleep is fled. His eyes with tears are blind! 
He keenly feels the justice of the law. 
And to his fate he tries to be resigned. 
Once more he may behold — and but once more — 
The rising sun that through the iron bars 
Into his cell her morning beams will pour. 
And one by one, e'en now, the twinkling stars 
Are bidding each good-night as lone they gaze 
Upon his blank despair! aye, bidding now 
The last— the long good-night of him who stays 
To fill the few short hours the laws allow. 
O, bursting heart! O, wretched, fallen man! 



36 SHA DO WS FROM LIFE. 

Eternity! eternity! It rings 
With chilling tones from depths he cannot span ! 
But see! far o'er the east how daylight springs! 
How fast the hours have fled! How Death draws near! 
With sure and measured step it comes, and soon 
His hand will wipe the last descending tear! 
It lighter grows, hastening the hour of noon ! 
How beautiful far o'er the east appear 
The fertile plain and darkly waving wood, 
As forth the sun peeps o'er the distant hills. 
And mounts a cloudless sky! How kind and good 
In Him who thus with cheering sunlight fills 
A wicked world! The cattle graze at ease, 
The birds do sing, the rills with music flow. 
The moments fly — but, oh, what feelings seize 
His brain, as oft he thinks how swift they go! 
Kind Saviour, hear his prayer ! The fatal hour 
Has almost come, and yet he hardly dares 
To trust himself on Thee. Oh, grant the power- 
Though vilest of the vile thy mercy spares — 
To come to Thee! Oh, hear his dying prayers! 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 27 



^III. 

THE LAST MOMENT. 

He listens! 'Tis the jailer's footsteps now 
That wake his dreaming ear ! Forth must he go 
The scorn of all the world, and on his brow 
The murderer's signet bear. No mind can know 
The anguish hidden in that human heart. 
How brave so e'er it tries to be. The ties 
Of life with him cannot be made to part — 
Inhuman as his life has been, when dies 
His only hope — without the solemn pang 
Our human nature feels when forced to yield. 
But now there is no doubt. His fate is sealed ! 
For yonder Is the rope where he must hang. 
That upright frame and scaffold speak a word 
Too plain for doubt. A cold and freezing pain 
Steals o'er him now, and prayers arise— half heard- 
To Him once crucified— for sinners slain. 
With faltering feet the death-trap doth he mount, 
Pale, trembling, sighing, and with reeling brain 



38 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

As on the drop he stands, nor dares to count 
The fleeting moments now. The upturned eyes, 
The beating hearts, the floods of bitter tears 
From eyes unused to weep, now sympathize 
With him thus doomed, whose spirit soon appears 
Before the Great White Throne. O, shades of Death! 
The numbered moments fly ! The end must come ! 
Oft as he breathes it whispers one less breath 
Of this pure air ere hastes his spirit home. 
His arms are fast ! Around his neck the rope 
Is fixed! The cap is drawn, and only hope 
Beyond the grave in times like this avails ! 
O God! The prop is drawn— the trap-door flies! 
He swings in air — he struggles— fainter— fails — 
And hangs a corpse!— 'Tis thus a mortal dies! 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 39 



XIV. 

WAR. 

O'er yon fair field whence comes in such swift flight, 

The furious war-god crowned with gory light, 

Who dares to lead Bellona forth, in arms 

For conquest, pressing all her bristling charms— 

Her terrors — and with direful passions swell 

With power the desolating hand of Death? 

Fair cities fall, and smothering clouds foretell 

The waste of life in War's sulphurous breath; 

And through the heavens, where Phoebus rolls his car, 

Astounding thunders seem to shake the seats 

Of worids unnumbered, as the dismal jar 

Of deep toned cannon o'er the earth retreats; 

And mid the whiz of shot and crash of shells— 

Sad messengers of Death to man}^ a brave — 

The direful noise of clashing armies tells 

How friend and foe may find one common grave. 

How swells the river with its plaintive strain, 

With blood deep tinged, in Death's dark vestments clad! 



30 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

How comes the wind soft sighing o'er the plain, 
Amid the whispering forests low and sad ! 
How in its trembling sighs hear we the groans 
Of dying m.en to listening heaven uprise, — 
Men who for country die, for kings, for thrones, 
For homes and firesides, and for native skies! 
Where are the birds whose songs, so lately heard, 
Filled all the woods with their exalted joj-^? 
Oh, listen ! On the breath of winds, the bird 
Has raised its wings to leave this sad employ. 
With no sweet song to cheer the dying form 
Now stretched in death beneath that playful shade, 
Where light winds dance, and sunlight, soft and warm, 
Plays with those locks in Death's cold slumbers laid. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 31 



XV. 

MOONLIGHT. 

*Tis moonlight! Oh how bright those sparkling rays 

Of mellow light drop from that silver ball ! 

Not like the thundering cannon's moment blaze; 

Not like the hissing shell anon to fall ; 

Ah, no! but on the wrecks of human life 

Mild beams it sheds to cheer so sad a scene. 

Now fainter grows the sound of active strife, 

O'er hill and plain, through dell and steep ravine, 

Though shouts of victors far away, are borne 

In mournful cadence on the ears of those 

Who, bleeding, dying, mangled, torn, 

Secure a warrior's peace in Death's repose. 

Now walk we forth where once the green grass grew, 

Now trampled, blood}^ piled with heaps of slain; 

Where rolled the river with its waters blue. 

Now blushing as it bears its purple stain; 

Where forest trees, green-leaved, grew wild and fair, 

Now seared, cut down, in thousand splinters rent; 



32 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

Where smiled the fields in Spring's sweet-scented air. 
Now filled with death — with foul contagion pent: — 
Ah, sickening scene! Poor mortals, heap on heap. 
Lie here and there with scarce a human shape, 
On trampled ground, by cannon furrowed deep; 
Mid steeds once daring in the furious fight, 
Now stretched in death, or struggling in their pain; 
Mid bayonets and sabers red— once bright— 
But now at rest among the men they've slain. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE, 



XVI. 

ANOTHER VIEW. 

But let us turn from scenes so dark and wild, 
Where blood so freely flows, and death pursues 
So furiously its victims, and, beguiled 
By softer breezes where the evening dews 
Appear on grass and ground unstained, view life 
Where rural calm fears not the deadly fray. 
To see if there, though far from battle strife, 
The ills of war bear not a fearful sway. 



34 SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 



XVII. 

THE COTTAGE HOME. 

Within that cottage up on yonder hill, 

Small though it be, yet always neat and white, 

Where blooming fields and fragrant woodland fill 

With scented air each breeze that has its flight 

Disturbed by no contentions; where distress 

Draws not, from crushed and dying, cries and groans 

To freeze the living soul — in quietness 

A mother lives, one who with pleasure owns 

The four small cherubs that around her cling, 

Who, day by day, with lisping voices, swell 

Their childish music as they try to sing. 

Yes, for some years, tido honest partners dwell. 

Contented in an humble sphere, in this 

Romantic home, and see these little ones 

Around them spring, affording untold bliss, 

For sometimes life with pleasing smoothness runs. 



SHA D WS FR OM LIFE. 35 



XVIII. 

CHANGING LIFE. 

But change is written on all things we see! 
Life's phases are as fickle as all else, 
And what may now seem true, erelong may be 
But true deceit. Perhaps life's highest joy 
Resides in home, when all are happy, and 
When social life gives happy hearts employ. 
But it must end when Time with ruthless hand 
Throws up her mountain scenes, and Duty's call 
With wild notes swells throughout the fairest land. 
So here, on this fair home, the shade must fall. 



36 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XIX. 

THE SHADOW. 

The anxious mother day by day would know 
The whereabouts of him whose early life 
Was faithful to his home, who, long ago, 
Had pledged her all if she would be his wife. 
A life in camp, or on the battle field, 
Charmed not his quiet soul; but when a foe, 
With bold affront his hands in blood had sealed— 
'Twas then his spirit heard the call to go. 
And on the field for liberty contend. 
Oh, gloomy was that hour when the resolve 
Was made, his home— his all to leave, and spend 
His strength— to die perhaps, and thus involve 
His happy home in grief ! That night was spent 
In weeping. Sleep came not; yet rosy morn. 
With earth-encircling love and blandishment. 
Made no delay, but just as sweetly cast 
Her beams o'er all as ever in the past. 
The sun made no delay at eve or dawn 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 37 

To read those tears, or ask why sorrows fill 

That woman's heart in such a trying hour. 

Those little ones were hushed and sadly still, 

And gazed as if they knew some mighty power 

The mother's heart had crushed. She often wept. 

And when at times the letter came, she read 

How battles raged, and such rich harvests reaped 

Of men, and laid them with the silent dead. 

And when the freezing, chilling winds and rains 

Were howling round her home, and dark were nights 

Without; when mists had covered hills and plains, 

And all was drear— forth flashed the horrid sights 

Of v/ar, so fearfully with harm beset, 

And seemed to «ay, the storms are brewing ill. 



38 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XX. 

INNOCENCE. 

The children, in their little beds so still 
In sleep, saw not the scenes that would not let 
The mother sleep. But when around their bed 
They meekly bowed, and evening prayers were said 
For home and for the soldier far away — 
Forgotten soon in dreams — how one lone heart 
Profoundly said "amen," and wept till day! 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XXI. 

THE LAST HOPE. 

The battle mges and his corps has part 

In the affray. She looks for letters, and 

Through papers looks with nervous, trembling hand. 

Day follows night, and night succeeds the day, 

And yet no tidings come. Weeks, months, aye, years, 

Are passed, and she is watching yet, they say. 

And yet no tidings. But that mother wears 

The weeds of mourning for the one who fell 

Somewhere unknown. If in a prison he 

Were placed, ere this, some message sure would tell. 

All hope is gone! At night she hears him groan, 

And in her dreams she starts to bear him aid; 

To clamber up yon woody hill alone. 

Where unobserved his bleeding form is laid. 

She listens, too, and says the storms are high. 

Then starts again to help him lest he die. 



40 SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 



XXII. 

THE WRECK. 

O, poor humanity! A suffering wreck, 
By sad misfortune made! No longer say 
That woes the stream of life can never check. 
That wars their terrors lose when far away; 
For when the day shall come that sees the veil 
Removed, and eyes so blinded now, shall see, 
Then many a mother's sad, unheeded wail 
Will tell her woes through all eternity ! 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 41 



XXIII. 

A REFLECTION. 

It is not wealth that always gives us ease, 

Nor poverty that takes it all away; 

But when the mind is raging with disease, 

And wandering thoughts like phantoms thickly play, 

Unchecked by reason, then it matters not 

If wealth or poverty should be our lot. 

The wretched poor, one day, may roll in wealth; 

The wealthy loose their all and they be poor; 

But when the wealth of reason goes by stealth, 

Life's pleasing prospects cannot long endure. 



42 SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 



XXIV. 

A BRIGHT PROSPECT. 

Years passed away. And, too, a mother's care 

For her dear, darling babe had ceased to hold 

Its wonted vigil, for the infant fair 

To womanhood had grown, and now controlled. 

In part, life's destinies, by her own strength 

In fighting life's great battles. Thus the scale 

Of man's existence must be passed, the length 

Of which, unknown, may light or darkness veil. 

The maiden in her rural home, with all 

That happiest home affords, surrounded, seemed 

Within a garden planted where doth fall 

Such cheering light as brightest suns have beamed. 

Cyrene, the fairest plant that ever grew 

Within a father's garden, grew in this, 

A household pet, beloved by all who knew 

Her as the village belle; — her presence bliss 

To rich and poor, to high and low, and none 

A slight from her pure heart had ever drawn; 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

None ever failed her pleasing wit to own, 

Or failed to miss it with her presence gone. 

Her fairy form, while tripping all alone 

At early hour out on the grassy lawn, 

To youthful Hebe's place might well aspire. 

No surly king such gracefulness could pass, 

Or greater beauty wish, when once the fire 

Of her dark eye flashed from his brimming glass. 

Thus like a lily she in beauty grew, 

From evil storm-winds sheltered in her home 

Retreat, where birds of pleasure lowly flew, 

And wreaths of virtue on her placed, like some 

Fair visitants sent from a sinless sphere, 

To plant a seed of human goodness here. 



44 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XXV. 

A STORM. 

As morning dawns and up a cloudless sky 

The sun bids fair to reach its mid-day height. 

So fair Cyrene, with prospects just as bright, 

Kose like a sun too bright for mortal eye. 

But as the sun, ere its proud height is gained. 

Behind the clouds its journey may pursue; 

So did Cj^rene, by clouds of darkness chained. 

No longer beam with life's enchanting hue, 

For change most unexpected came, and she. 

The beauty of the morn, ere noon, became 

The wreck of storms no mortal eyes foresee. 

The pleasant home had disappeared, the same 

As if the sport of whirlpool rage. Its light 

Of wealth had faded to a somber night. 

Into the depths mysterious of death 

The father quickly vanished, crushed with cares 

And fondest hopes o'erturned, whose Stygian breath, 

Like whirlwinds, swept him to that shore 



SHA D WS FR OM LIFE. 45 

Whence none return. Ah! poisoned were the airs 
Fate wafted o'er that home. For months before, 
Cyrene had pledged her deepest love to him 
Who sought her hand with blandest smile, 
And proffered his as pledge that ne'er should dim 
The love he bore for her. So fond, meanwhile, 
And constant did he seem to grow, spell-bound 
In her own life's concern no fear could sting. 
She felt secure in him whose eye had found 
Its true ideal from her presence spring. 
A mutual consent them both had made 
In sympathy but one, that when the day 
Should come so long anticipated, they 
Might one forever be. Heart chilling shade! 
How quickly fondest heart-throbs oft are chilled! 
How frail the human staff on which we lean ! 
With what deceit a human heart is filled ! 
What blighted hopes in human hearts are seen! 



46 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XXVI. 

THE RUINED PICTURE. 

Alas, for poor Cyrene! Her all to one 
She loved confided, ends now with the old, 
Old story of "true love deceived! " Undone 
By one bold stroke of fate! The love of gold, 
And not the gold of love, the lover sought 
For, in his ardent zeal to gain what seemed 
A lovely picture in a gold-frame wrought. 
As had the wealth of which he fondly dreamed. 
Like fondest dreams now taken sudden flight, 
So from his mind as quick the picture faded. 
Though constant had he been as day and night, 
That constancy now ceased, and thus was shaded 
The slender flower in mortal gloom. Alas! 
What woman fragile, trusting, and confiding 
Her life-long love to tempting words that pass 
The lips that proffer love returned deriding. 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 47 

Can meet the night of blasted hopes which chills 
And poisons, and with sharpest daggers, wounds 
Her unsuspecting soul? Ah! how such ills 
Have ever filled life's chambers with the sounds 
Of wailings borne from broken hearts that find 
Their shattered hopes were but the work designed. 



48 JSHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XXVII. 

THE WRECK. 

Cast off, with scarce a friend, yet without foe. 
Her home the almshouse, yet so gentle, she 
At liberty forth was allowed to go 
From house to house, from all restriction free. 
The doors of peasant and nobility 
Alike at her approach would ope, and though 
Upon her mind but one plain fact remained— 
The deep-made wounds of Love's misguided dart- 
Yet pity from the lookers-on she gained. 
Nor did it fail till poor Cyrene obtained 
A rest eternal for her broken heart. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XXVIII. 

A STRANGE HOUSE. 

Only one man. A house, (perhaps designed 

For many occupants instead of one 

Queer, solitary man, as here is done 

From some unnatural choice,) although so mean 

In its appointments as to be defined 

Scarce equal to a common shed; unclean 

In all its parts, with litter everywhere; 

Not one sound table, sideboard, or a chair; 

The bed but filth and of unseemly rags; 

The floor invisible beneath the dirt 

Of years accumulating; he, with tags 

Of worn-out clothes, o'erhung, and without shirt; 

Hair long uncut — uncombed, and long grown gray; 

And beard quite as unseemly, and a skin 

Of leathery thickness— color, and alway 

Unwashed ; his cupboard dust without, within 

Perhaps a single crust, perhaps a bone, 

A broken dish or two, perchance a knife 



50 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

And fork and spoon (or may be there are none) ; 

The window so with dirt begrimmed that life 

Is but one long, dark night where he can see 

No sun, save when abroad by painful want 

He moves, to beg what by economy 

May life continue in his wretched haunt: 

Room so confined that no fresh air 

May play among the rubbish, mildew, dust. 

So long accumulated everywhere; 

Doors fastened on their hinges by the rust 

From years of gathered dampness ; vermin creeping 

Forth from their nests at will, but ne'er disturbed 

By careful hands, by dusting or by sweeping; 

Bold rodents romping playfully, uncurbed, 

Through chamber, closet, cellar, garret, and 

Through chest or trunk, if such there be; no paper 

Or book to tell what news excites the land ; 

No friend, uncomforted by ev'n a taper: — 



SHADOWS FBOM LIFE. 51 



XXIX. 

THE MISER. 

Thus doth the miser live, if life it be 

To live in such self-chosen wretchedness, 

With no wise object aimed at, one can see, 

But time to spend and every good suppress. 

Beneath those rags, in cobwed corners, or 

In cellar nooks and boxes, see his gold. 

The god he worships while awaiting for 

Some unconditioned blessing to unfold! 

Ah! saved for "moth and rust" to feed upon, 

While he, both soul and body, starves to save 

His idle hoard for strangers when the slave 

His watch has ceased and from his station gone. 

In sickness, or when life doth sorely weigh 

Upon his wearied mind, (as oft such hours 

Will come to all men,) night or day. 

Seeks he wherewith to overcome the powers 

Of darkness round him gathered? No kind voice, 

No tender hand, naught of life's comforts, blend 



52 SHA DOWS FR OM LIFE. 

To cheer his mind or make his soul rejoice. 
A8 none in sorrow did he e'er befriend, 
So now no friend has he. Nor doth he seek 
For friends. A most unnatural desire 
For wealth accumulated, shows how weak 
A mind becomes that will no more aspire 
For social pleasures. Wretchedness and woe 
Become his masters by his own free choice, 
And peace and comfort doth he never know. 
Nor pleasure answer to his surly voice. 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 68 



XXX. 

HIS REMAINS, 

The house is still nor echoes to the tread 

Of mortal footsteps. Nor hath any seen 

The withered, ragged, dirty form, unfed, 

Pass from his door a lingerer between 

The points of life and death. So strange was he. 

In all he did, to keep from mortal view, 

That scarcely was he missed — none cared to see 

One so repulsive, to respect untrue, 

Save when a human pity shed its tears 

For his benighted soul. The friendly knock, 

From his unfriendly door, no welcome hears; 

No friendly hand turns back the rusty lock 

For neighborly admittance. Cold and still 

It seems within, though all without disports 

With genial spring-life— valley, brook and hill. 

As uninviting, lonesome, as the courts 

Of some vast ancient castle long ago 

Deserted, to the wondering visitor. 



54 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

This house appears. But though the soft winds blow, 

They do but whisper some sad story, for 

That awful silence seems to plainly say, 

Within there's something wrong.— The lock gives way 

To sympathyzing hands, and there amid 

His stores of wealth the famished form 

That miser once possessed, lies dead — half hid 

In rags, and with a soul no longer warm. 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 55 



XXXI. 

OPPRESSION. 

Let pity drop her tears when, in her rounds 

Among the worthy poor, the widow's cot 

Is met. Though filled, perhaps, with merry sounds 

Of children voices heedless of the lot 

Upon the mother fallen, long and sad 

Hath her heart beat within its chamber, filled 

With ominous shadows, and with anguish clad. 

There's music in such infant voices; and 

To her sad ear it long hath borne a charm 

That soothed at times her anguish like the wand 

Of a magician. They feared neither harm 

Nor want, in their sweet, childish innocence. 

Their little bed seemed fraught with many a charm. 

Where, though a meager show, kind Providence 

So long had given them rest, and often filled 

Their infant minds with pleasant dreams. Oh, how 

Those little souls with visioued life were thrilled. 

When in the lone night hours sleep touched their brow 



56 SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 

With life's most gorgeous scenes. They little dreamed 

How, near that feebly burning lamp that stood 

Beside their bed, another vision seemed 

To thrill that mother's breast, as if it would 

Her very soul undo. With scarcely light 

The needle's destined course to see, her worn 

And bleeding fingers showed how fierce the fight 

Was being waged within that mother's mind. 

The hour was late, and night was swiftly borne 

Back to its caverns, yet no sleep had laid 

Its soothing fingers on her brow, but, blind 

With overwork, she struggled to evade 

Its wooing presence. Masters are unkind 

When, by dependents, rules are disobeyed; 

And long she viewed the many garments piled 

Upon her tottering table, for which she. 

To make so long had toiled, and almost wild, 

Only a loaf and little more could see, 

For self and her two little ones. Oh, sighs 

Of human hearts! How loudly vengeance cries! 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 67 



XXXII. 



THE OPPRESSOR, 



The mother's story is with sadness told, 

Her life of hardships on life's treacherous sea, 

Her strife with want and woe, with heat and cold. 

She finds but small the stock of sympathy 

In men of wealth, who, though possessed of means 

To act by worthy deeds, to pelf are bound 

In closest friendship, heeding not the scenes 

Of human woe where poverty is found; 

Who, crabbed, shameless and exacting, steal 

The very life-blood from the human heart 

That labor owns — yet owns it but in part— 

For he who stands the strongest in the deal, 

His thousands pockets for his own, nor cares 

How small the pittance the poor laborer shares. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XXXIII. 



OPPRESSION S WORK. 



For him the widow works. A shirt, a vest, 
For ten, perhaps for five cents is the best 
Her toil is paid: and through the long, long day, 
And days succeeding days, her weary hand 
Enough can scarcely earn to keep at bay 
Starvation at her door, though in the land 
Abundance doth abound. O wretched sleep! 
What visions haunt her moments for repose 
Snatched from her hated work, she only knows! 
The children dream not what doth make her weep. 
Or why so haggard and so poor appear 
From day to day; nor do they see the form 
Of crouching care that haunts her year by year. 
Though such deep sadness well portends a storm 
Near in the future gathering. Life is made 
Of brittle threads, and, like a viol's string. 
In human efforts may awhile be played 
To life's fair tune, but daily use will bring 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

A sound foreboding ill none can mistake, 
A growing weakness, and a sudden break. 
Of one and then another of those threads 
The fragments lie within that mother's heart. 
A darkness, dense and death-like, overspreads 
Her mind exhausted, and no human art 
Can dim the triumph of that conquering foe 
That far outrides the fleetest steed of Time. 
Ah! is her labor done? and must she go 
A worn-out mortal, though but in life's prime? 
To cliarity her tender offspring leave 
Because, for greed, man's better nature fails 
To heed the children's cries, the widow's wails? 
She goes — and man no more her soul can grieve. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XXXIV. 



LIFE S MAKE-UP. 



The medley of life's make-up, so inwove 

With basest passions in the human heart 

That scarce philanthropy finds aught to prove 

A true philosophy, in every part 

Bears evidence of evil. Weeds will grow 

Untilled where corn will starve: so sin will thrive 

In bold luxuriance where but good we sow; 

And fighting sin the good scarce keeps alive. 

Though unwise man may good and ill combine 

In the same field to grow, so that the two 

Take root from the same soil, yet weed and vine 

Together cannot thrive; but where they do — 

In their own strength — a race for life pretend. 

The worthless weed is sure of mastery. 

So, too, bad passions, if a man befriend, 

O'er every good bold conquerors will be. 

And where good deeds should in luxuriance grow. 

The soil is sapped by an invidious foe. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 61 



XXXV. 

PERSONAL DUTY. 

A barren waste of mental expectation 

Is that strange man who will not manly bear 

His proper burden of life's daily care 

Of private duty, though of humble station. 

If thorns and briars do his pathway press, 

Fair fruit perhaps they bear, that well repays 

His better toil if he with care essays 

To pluck it, and partake with thankfulness. 

Yet he who at a trial must rebel, 

Expecting life is made of faultless ease, 

Will find within a faithful sentinel 

That warns him oft, though naught of harm he sees 

Within his heart, of the approach of ill; 

But hardships, strifes, oppressions and gross wrongs, 

With which poor human nature ever will 

In conflict be — if human passion leads 

In seeking that for which his spirit longs — 

When bravely met, are man's most noble deeds. 



62 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XXXVI. 

UNPREPARED. 

In yonder home where feebly burns that light. 

The lifeless form of a loved father lies, 

A father of a home once made so bright 

By filial love and children's roguish eyes; 

A model home whose comforts once could fill 

The largest of man's practical desires 

With what the world esteems. But slumbering fires 

By heedless hands are oft concealed, until 

The ruin wrought unveils the carelessness 

That held destruction under no duress. 

In this fair home, while fortune's hand supplied 

In full the household wants, there ne'er appeared 

Alarm that ill to-morrow might betide 

Them in their home, a home so long endeared 

To love and happiness. Prosperity, 

Though fondly craved, doth often tend to blind 

Men's sharpest eyes that they may never see 

The hand of wisdom pointing them the way 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 63 

Whence they can steer and leave the rocks behind. 
That father blind to all but what to-day 
Seemed to demand, heard not the sound of storm 
Amid the rocks uplifted in the path 
His heedless will had chosen; nor the form 
Of certain danger threatened; nor the wrath 
Of his deep passions loosed from all control, 
Because, by adverse winds, he failed to keep 
A prosperous, sunny shore. Thus with his soul 
Unmanned with carefulness upon a deep 
He ne'er had cared to fathom, in distress 
He found no harbor where his laboring bark 
Could shelter find, nor guide whom he could press 
To serve him while he struggled in the dark. 



64 SHADOWS FROM LIFE, 

XXXVII. 

IN DARKNESS. 

To him as surely darkness came as night 
Comes on departing day; and day's fair sky 
Ne'er sought escape from storm and paling light 
More truly than did he his doom to fly. 
The graded scale assumed by coming fate 
Is no more subtile than the scale that bears 
Man's greatest blessings; but to longing wait 
For good expectant, and with ills and snares 
Be so beset, is when the man may fail 
A man to be. Thus did this father glide 
Adown life's steepest grade, nor aught avail 
To give him strength against the sweeping tide. 
A wreck of man though human still in form. 
Groping his way through every shade of mind, 
Breathing God's air, and pulses beating warm. 
Love lingering in his heart, a father kind, 
Through pity weeping for his wife and child. 
Mourning for dear ones lost when death passed by- 
Hear him, O world, in his distractions wild, 
With anguished bosom, now unbosomed, cry. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 65 



XXXVIII. 

THE suicide's SOLILOQUY. 

O heavens! the last, last ray of light departs 

From my dark, midnight soul! There is no sky! 

The moon and stars withdraw. Dark horror starts, 

And wrathful ghosts undaunted round me fly! 

Hell only can I see with gaping mouth 

Amid the blackness of my earthly prison. 

And its fierce fires, ablaze, augment the drouth 

That in my soul hath woefully uprisen. 

Man fails his brother man to recognize, 

And schemes to crush in his own ill-formed heart 

The cry of sympathy, but lacks not zeal 

That he full power may gain to sacrifice 

His fellows' feelings for his own good part. 

O mortal thieves! to whom is no appeal 

For thievish honor, such as oft is claimed 

Has lodgement in the code that governs bold 

Highwaymen, ye for manhood are misnamed, 

Since human feelings are not bought nor sold. 



66 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

Once I for life a plenty had, my own 

To use as seemed me best; but carelessly 

Intrusting to my brother man, o'erthrown 

Were my fond hopes; and what was dear to me. 

The home I long had cherished as the sum 

Of all my happiness, was swept away, 

And to a fierce, unwilling martyrdom 

I thus became a brother's martyred prey. 

Oh, fiercely burns my head! My throbbing breast 

Must soon beat down its yielding fleshy wall! 

No manly heart could ever be at rest 

And see a wife and child thus deeply fall 

Through his disgrace. Unmeant as deeds of wrong, 

By honest motives pressed, my weaker part 

Was feebly played by one to whom belong 

The best intentions; but the mystic art 

Of money -getting, be it foul or fair 

In those whose might is right, unknown to me, 

Was learned when learning had no fruit to bear. 

Oh, ruin, ruin for my family! 

And worse for me than ruin is despair ! 

Despair that doth so closely press my soul 

With winning speed, that now it matters not 

How soon I leap from woeful life's control. 

And for a name leave but a single blot, 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 67 

Which by the crowd so soon will be forgot. 
Here, thankless world! these little crazy marks 
On this small paper made by a turned brain, 
Will tell the tale of him whose mental sparks 
Have near expired; and on whose soul the stain 
Of willful error may or may not be 
Adjudged. I care not what a world may think 
When it so calmly can stand by and see, 
Unmoved, its members into ruin sink, 
Or headlong force them down to an abyss 
Of misery no mortal can endure ! 
Here am I standing, and the ugly hiss 
Of demon souls no longer is obscure 
To my changed ear; but where they are I know, 
And how they look, and how they act and feel, 
And how they live, their state of utter woe, 
The sordid, blackened, hideous shapes that steal 
The last shed ray of hope for coming death 
To end a worse than death which has no end; 
The anguish and remorse, the hellish breath, 
The foul disorders — horrors! Death, descend! 
Give me my portion ! Let my spirit pass 
Into thy Stygian realm ! There let me drink 
My cup of woe, though here beneath the grass 
My body lies! 



68 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XXXIX. 

THE DEED DONE. 

Ah! mortal, stop and think! 
In yonder home where feebly burns that light, 
The lifeless form of a loved father lies, 
A father of a home once made so bright 
By filial love and children's roguish eyes. 
No longer is it so; but, weltering in his blood, 
Behold the father! O'er him bend in tears 
That once so happy household, while the flood 
Of grief shows what strong sympathy appears 
Some human hearts to fill. The fatal shot 
Has rent his soul from its frail clay abode. 
And he, a coward in life's fray, with blot 
Upon his name, hath cast his single load 
Of duty on a mother frail to bear. 
In her lone state, a double load of care. 



SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XL. 

A REVIEW. 

And this is life! Reviewed, a shadowy scene 

O'er which a bard can burn with tenderest fire. 

But if experienced, then what it doth mean 

No bard can tell nor tell his trembling lyre! 

Now are the little moments fleeting fast; 

To Time's swift train their waning lights belong; 

Soon longer hours are buried in the past, 

And days and years increase the moving throng. 

Time flies! and looking o'er the past we see 

How all things earthly have their time to fade. 

In Nature's realm, to man, to beast, to tree, 

Comes there a time when they aside are laid, 

And as from dust were formed, to dust return, 

Each in his order, as the wheels of Time 

Their revolutions speed. Here may we learn 

The sinking strains of Life's departing chime, 

As on they go through Death's dark, shadowy door, 

On to Eternity, where mortal eye 



70 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 

Can never reach, nor tongue with praises soar, 

Nor feet e'er clamber to that vaulted sky 

Where pure, exalted spirits, winged with love, 

Learn no more war, nor feel the pangs of death: — 

Yes, on they go, the olive leaf and dove, 

Where Faith triumphant gains celestial breath, 

And all is peace. There is an hour 

When all things known must meet a final doom; 

And, too, so sure no man can find the power 

To give delay. Into the solemn gloom 

Of Time's oblivious depths, as darkly swell 

Its tides with all we love, we, too, must go, 

And in etherial light the long past tell. 

Enwrapped with pleasure, or o'erwhelmed with woe. 



SHADO WS FROM LIFE. 71 



XLI. 



YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY. 

Two dramas short it seems we're acting here: 

Act first is past; the second passes now, 

Not like the first; but, like the varying year, 

Life's seasons vary, and what may appear 

Surpassing strange, the future may allow. 

Far in the past we mapped a future course; 

But in that future, by some unseen force, 

Our plans were unfulfilled. How soon we part! 

As all things else that live must change and die, 

So must our breathing cease. Oh, then why start 

To see the hour of separation nigh? 

What fortunes are before us who shall say? 

The past is gone — our time is but to-day. 

To-morrow? Ah! to-morrow none may see, 

For in Eternity its home must be! 



72 SHADOWS FROM LIFE. 



XLII. 

FAREWELL. 

Yet had we hoped a fairer song to sing; 
A song of Life in its bright summer day; 
But heart doth fail that sweeter song to bring, 
And fast the days unnoted pass away. 
Then fare thee well, O transitory Time, 
Thou great Instructor of expanding minds! 
As goes the world so goest thou, to climb 
The misty hills a future vision finds ! 
Sadly we woo thee, as with anxious care 
We watch, while for existence here contending 
Amid the ills of life so rough and bare. 
But lo! thou risest, like a star ascending. 
Up to Heaven's portal where we pass along 
With Farewell Sorrow as our parting song. 



MISCELLANEOUS 



THE PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 



Piling up the blocks of stone 
For the city folks to own, 
Clam'ring for a higher steeple 
Than has built aught other people, 
(Yet there may be some exception 
Where th' aspiring workmen kept on 
Building,) though our owm is high 
As will build our funds laid by. 
Still, perchance, we may exceed 
Ancient monarchs, who, for greed, 
Thought to build a Tower of Babel 
Heaven to reach — but were unable; — 
Or build Pyramids Egyptian. 
Overtaxing all description; 
Or a Sphynx of uncouth shape, 
Man-like, god-like, or an ape 

73 



74 THE PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 

Imitating; or, instead, 
Obelisks and pillars spread 
Earth above, or beneath 
Dig out catacombs for Death; 
Temples build for gods to dwell in. 
Or for man justice to sell in; 
Ampitheatres and hanging 
Gardens for the mixed -up clanging 
Of voices, music and wild beasts. 
In Olympics or king's feasts: — 
These we may surpass by far, 
(Surely keep at least at par,) 
If we only persevere 
Piling stones up year by year. 

City people, I suppose, 
Long have seen how money goes, 
Leaving still the dust and heat. 
Mud and dirt and nasty street, 
Filthy slums where sewers choke 
With volcanic fire and smoke; 
Garbage barrels, tubs and pans. 
Boxes, ashes, and tin cans. 



THE PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 75 

Crowding sidewalks night and day, 
While contractors look away 
Up in air where dollars go 
For a city's puppet-show. 

Higher pile the blocks of stone; 
Let the city people groan; 
Never mind what they may think 
Of mud and water mixed for drink. 
Let good Nature flush the streets, 
For our use bring what she meets 
From cess-pools, dye-tubs, factories, stables, 
Refuse from our neighbors' tables- 
Mix them all and pump them through 
Pipes and spouts well lined with glue 
From boiled bones and butchers' shops, 
Pig-pen filth and brewers' slops, 
For this must be the future style 
Of our city living while 
Piling up the blocks of stone 
For the city folks to own. 

Millions now have been expended, 
With but half the height intended 



76 THE PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 

Yet attained, for dollars Bland 

Vanish like a bank of sand 

Through the cracks beneath the steeple. 

And th' astonished city people 

Keep on wondering how much more 

Money it will take before 

Philadelphia's oracle 

Will be heard up in that steeple, 

(Something high up like a clock. 

Or the higher weathercock.) 

Giving man some good advice 

In an untaxed Paradise. 

Keep on piling up the stone 

For some gyrating cyclone 

To frolic with, as would a clown 

A circus pole come squirming down. 

Or an earthquake might at will 

Have a little ague chill 

Down beneath the mighty pile. 

And his aching back the while 

He straightened, might enlarge 

The cracks now showing, or engorge 



THE PUBLIC BUILDINGS. 77 

The whole concern with greatest grace, 
Nor leave a single stone in place. 

Hurry then and build the steeple; 
Lay the taxes on the people; 
Never mind how workmen groan, 
Laying streets with cobble stone, 
Eating bread -crusts without butter: — 
Raise their rents tho' they may mutter, 
While monopolies oppress 
Their workmen, making wages less, 
Claiming they must pay the taxes 
By the use of poor men's axes, 
Building railroad tracks up higher, 
Putting down th' electric wire. 
Making shoes and clothes between 
Fingers and the sewing-machine, 
Saying children, women and men. 
Hours must work no less than ten, 
Or when hurried, perhaps more, 
(Just a few, say three or four) 
And to do it must sleep less 
Than usual, and thus acquiesce 



78 THE PUCLIC BUILDINGS. 

In the laws that make them pay 
Taxes in some casual way, 
Working early, working late, 
Though with rent unfortunate 
Enough to be somewhat behind, 
While the "iron-clad leases" bind. 

Thus go on, nor once relax; 
Tax and build, then build and tax; 
Generations still are coming, 
Who, no doubt, will keep on drumming 
For the funds to build up higher 
This celestial pointing spire, 
And if just enough be given, 
Sure its end may (or may not) be heaven! 
Philadelphia, Juiw, 1888. 



YOUTH'S PLEASURES LOST. 



How quickly have youth's pleasures flown ! 

Ay, slipped from my ambitious grasp 

Those shadows we so fondly clasp, 
Which Youth declared through life were strewn. 
Though long I claimed them as my own, 

Most firmly held by Memory's hasp, 

They left a pain as if an asp 
Had, there concealed, its poison thrown. 
I know not when their flight they took, 

Those childish pleasures which did seem 
So like the pictures of my book, 

For I was left alone to dream 
Of what they were. Now, though I look, 

There scarce remains a parting gleam. 

79 



MOTHER. 



Gone! j2:oneI As goes mankind, so thou hast gone 

To that unknown, from whence none e'er return 

With messages of what one there may learn. 
Through life aggrieved do I still wander on. 
Aggrieved indeed that, while was breaking one 

By one life's tinsel threads, my own concern 

For thy departure did so feebly burn 
Within me that thy flight was made alone ! 
I had no power to keep thee; still I might 

Have held thy hand, and heard thy last drawn breath. 
Had not fond Sleep mislead my weary sight, 

Seeming to drop on thee his fairest wreath; 
For while thus me he lured, on that still night, 

Thine eyes were closed by his cold brother — Death. 



SPRING LEAVES. 



My slumbering soul wakes with returning sense 
To see deft-fingered Spring once more replace, 
With canning art and unmistaking grace, 

The silver leaves, so rapidly and dense, 

On trees long bare; but great my wonder whence 
And how she starts them on their mystic race, 
For scarce her arms the languid trees embrace, 

Than they are dressed in green and sweet incense. 

Such handy work the lisping breeze beguiles 
To bear her precious fragrance o'er the land; 

The sun invites, beaming with morning smiles, 
Her nectar dews to sip; and, while I stand 

In meditative wonder, reconciles 
My mist-bound thought to her divine command. 

81 



MEMORY'S SONG. 



Written for the Phillips Reunion, held in Colebrook, Ohio, 
September 8, 1887. 

There's an unseen chord in the human heart, 
Which stirs at the sound of Memory's voice, 

But it needs not the skill of human art 
To thrill with the strains of its heaven-bred choice. 

We may wander afar, and though turmoil and din 
Fill the world with commotion that lies between 

Our hearts that are linked by this chord within, 
Yet sweet is the strain from its kingdom unseen. 

'Tis not the faint echo of unknown song; 

'Tis not from a voice that ne'er called us before; 
*Tis not from those realms which do not belong 

To mortals earth-bound to be heard of no more. 

Ah, no! 'Tis a voice a mortal well knows 
Ere echo has time to the ear to return; 

82 



MEMOR Y'S SONG. 83 

'Tis the voice of sweet Friendship that gently flows 
Through the discords and woes of our earth-sojourn. 

Say not it belongs to this earth alone; 

That mortals earth-bound it only can hear; 
For shortly these mortals, as senseless as stone, 

Will down in deaf earth with Death disappear. 

This strain is immortal as well as the soul. 
And though linked to the earth , it reaches to heaven. 

And when Time shall cease in its fury to roll. 
To us mortals will then this ininiortal be given. 

Then touch this sweet chord again and again! 

Revive the old strains of Memory's song! 
'Twill sweeten life's labors and soothe its last pain, 

When we fill up the ranks of the numberless throng. 



LETTERS. 



Philadelphia, Dec. 13tJi, 1887. 

My Bear Sir: — Please accept the enclosed sonnet, 
on your eightieth birthday, as a tribute of friendship. 
I was born in Chesterfield, Hampshire county, Mass., 
among New England hills, and, though I have seen 
more than half a century of years, my boyhood was 
cheered by the sound of your verse. May that kind 
Providence that has given you prolonged life, still give 
you peace and strength in declining days, that other 
songs may continue to flow from your noble soul. 
Yours very truly, 

John Q. Whittier. J. D. Vinton. 



Oak Knoll, Danvers, Mass., 13 Mo. 15, '87. 
Dr. Vinton:— Thy graceful sonnet has reached me, 
and I sincerely thank thee for it only wishing it was 
better deserved on my part. Thy friend, 

John G. Whittiek. 
u. 



TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. 



On his 80ih Birthday, Dec. 17th, 1887. 

Ah ! many a storm has "swept those forest trees 

That crowned with glory grand New England hills! 

But there, unscarred by winter winds, or chills, 
Some of those monarchs still the traveler sees; 
And as in childhood oft a summer breeze, 

Among their branches, made our spirit-thrills, 

To Nature's grandest music, leap like rills 
From mountain joys fond memory to please: 
So now, O Poet! thou, of four-score years, 

Who didst our childhood soothe with fairest song, 
Dost still remain a monarch Earth reveres 

As teacher, guide, reformer, foe of wrong; 
And, in our forest-world, with no compeers. 

Doth Heaven, thro' thee, its sweetest strains prolong. 



WHAT I HEARD. 



Conversation overheard at Sixth and Walnut Sts., Philadelphia. 



One day while passing down Sixth Street, 

In a musing state of mind, 
I saw three clever gentlemen meet, 

Who seemed of the legal kind. 

Well clothed were they, sleek and well-fed, 

(As lawyers usually are,) 
And nothing I saw from foot to head 

That would not grace the bar. 

They said something, and I heard 
What those same gentlemen said. 

And sly as they said it I give you their word, 
Showing how they sometimes get bread: 

"Smith, we have on hand a good job. 
Out of which we can make a nice thing," 



WHAT I HEARD, 87 

(I don't suppose they meant to rob, 
Or pull any such string,) 

"For if we manage it just right, 

A good haul we certainly can make; 
We must bring only ten thousand to light, 

And the rest into our pockets rake! " 

I knew their pockets must be large, 

For a lawyer's pockets generally are, 
As all very well know when their charge 

Is rendered for pleadings at the bar; 

So I knew somebody, of course, must 
Have the small end of the straw, 

And thus everything lose— but the crust- 
To feed those vampires of the law. 

"The rest we will divide among ourselves! " 
Yes, this is their first, last and only thought, 

To make as bare as possible the shelves 
Of the careless sinners they have caught. 



? WHAT I HEARD. 

Thus I observed how, e'en on Sixth Street, 
'Twas nothing to be wondered at. 

That, whenever we see such lawyers meet. 
They should always appear so fat ! 



SAFE GUIDANCE. 



Oh, sweet unfolding of that gentle care 
Which ever watches so unweariedly 
My faltering step - awhile so dark it be 

Around— to save me from some hidden snare! 

Of life's besetting ills I must beware; — 
Of ills in nooks concealed I cannot see 
For wide-spread darkness, yet I know for me 

A skillful hand doth safety paths prepare. 

O heart of mine! Beclouded oft with grief 
Because life's sun hath not a constant shine, 

Why dost thou dare to shelter unbelief, 

And every hope with doubtings undermine? 

Ah, timid heart! look that the sullen thief 
Bear not away a comfort so divine! 



SUMMER HEAT. 

The wearying heat of summer time — 
A heat most wearying to the brain— 
With all its glare has come again, 

A herald from some tropic clime. 

Now doth my soul sigh for the shade 
Of some broad tree, or spreading wood. 
Which all this fire has long withstood. 

In spring-born glories still arrayed; 

Where panting breezes from the plain, 
With scarce a fragrant l)reath to give. 
In fondness linger, and revive 

Among the leaves their wonted strain. 

To hear such music o'er my head. 
Or see the flowerets at my feet 
Look up and bow and smile so sweet. 

Where all without seems so near dead, 

90 



SUMMER HEAT. 91 

Would make my heart fresh vigor take, 
And laugh while Sol his rays throws down 
On new-mown fields already brown, 

Or tries to drink the placid lake. 

The mossy bank, round which the rill 
With tinkling song so sweetly steals, 
Neath that cool shade such rest conceals, 

That, were I there, my heart would fill 

With solid comfort; and if Sleep 
Were with me tempted to that shade. 
Its presence I would not evade. 

But with it closest friendship keep. 

The wearying heat of summer time 

May rage as it has raged before, 

Nor e'en forget the garb it wore 
While dwelling in some tropic clime; 

But in that fragrant, cool retreat. 

The rippling brook my cup would fill; 
The breezes from the lofty hill 

Sing overhead ; and at my feet 



92 SUMMER HEAT. 

The dreamy shadows dance and play 
Where flowerets breathe a fragrant air. 
And dewy mosses coolness bear 

To keep the stifling heat at bay. 

Then let my fainting spirit stray 
From this oppressive summer heat. 
And linger in that cool retreat 

Till summer suns have passed away. 



MODERATION. 



What most we need, to best attain 

In life's great race the safest speed, 
Is moderation; and, to gain 
What most we need 

Of moderation, it's agreed, 

That what will make both straight and plain 
Our paths, will progress least impede. 

A slow and gentle fall of rain 

Best fructifies the thirsting mead: 
So, ' 'slow and sure" doth never feign 
What most we need. 



LIFE'S SEASONS. 



Inscribed to Mr. and Mrs. Lyman Witherell, on the Anniversary 
of their "Golden Wedding," Deo. 12th, 1887. 



When spring days come and all the earth 

From winter sleep is waking, 
What countless pleasures then have birth, 

The world a garden making! 
So childhood seems like a fair Spring, 

Inspired with dreams of glory, 
And all through life we love to sing 

The songs of childhood's story. 

Soon Summer comes with heat and dust. 

To Nature beauties throwing, — 
A middle time that lingers just 

Where brightest days are glowing. 
So is the summer time of life, — 

Man's grandest time for trying 
To boldly charge on busy strife. 

With victor banner flying. 



LIFE'S SEASONS. 95 

Though Autumn winds now bear a chill, 

And Summer blossoms sicken, 
Yet, what a joy the heart doth thrill, 

While heavenly blessings, thicken! 
The harvest sheaves are safely stored. 

Beyond where Winter rages; 
Beyond where man's last run is scored, — 

Where Life is endless Ages! 

Thus, Friends Belov'd, though ye have passed 

These seasons well nigh over; 
Though few the years ere comes the last 

This mortal life can cover; — 
Together ye have toiled and sowed — 

For fifty years have striven, 
That golden sheaves, on earth bestowed, 

Be garnered up in heaven ! 



MYSTERIOUS SPRING. 



My station in a nook of Nature's hall 
I closely keep; but, peering forth, I see 
Spring's busy self at work in mystery, 

As if obeying some resistless call. 

Oft have I seen her gracious brightness fall 
Upon the barren field and leafless tree, 
Transforming them, that in earth's jubilee. 

Those petted children be the pets of all. 

Thus on her work looks out my chambered soul, 
A wise observer of her various ways; 

But while I watch her busy seasons roll, 
Coming and going, lo! my fleeting days. 

Caught in the whirl, have passed from my control. 
Though long for their return my spirit prays. 

96 



BEAUTY. 



I. 
A PLBASiNG form to scanning eyes 
On either hand is seen to rise, 
Displaying robes of varying light 
To captivate the wondering sight, 
And bears a form of spirit kind, 
In close alliance to the mind. 
The restless eye attentive looks 
At hills, at vales, at woods, at brookfl. 
At Nature's work, at human art. 
At scenes conjoined, at scenes apart, 
To view a form, as forth it springs — 
A something which with boldness brings 
To sight Enchanting Beauty's name, 
Aglow with Love's electric flame. 

97 



98 BEA UTY. 

This Beauty has a hingua,ii:e pure. 
Though to lewd passions it may hire; 
For, like a lire, it spreads and burns 
At times with rage, then softly turns 
With wanton smiles, attacks the mind 
With amorous love for human kind. 

II. 
Fair Beauty, as a matchless queen^ 
May in the maiden's face be seen. 
She loiters there in best attire, 
Inflames the soul's supreme desire 
With glimpses— caught by secret art. 
By anxious eye and beating heart - 
Of her fair form, a radiant spark 
That dazzling shines in such a mark : 
Or be she in a mazy shade, 
In part concealed, in part displayed. 
Then oft the mind is strangely bent, 
Exposed to vice and discontent. 



A chosen guaixl, in armor strong% 
Attends the queen in play or song. 



BEA UTY. 

As music doth the spirit charm, 

So doth this maid the thoughts disarm 

When music, love, and grace, combined, 

Have well the hearts of men entwined. 

These chords unseen, so full of force. 

With ease are traced from source to source. 

From maid to man, from man to maid, 

For Hymen's will must be obeyed; 

And Cupid looks with sleepless eye 

To see the festive hour draw nigh, 

Fills love's and lover's sleep with dreams 

Of choicest kinds, and ever schemes 

With brighter suns of burning love 

Than ever glowed from heaven above. 

IV. 

Not only in the new-made bride 
May Beauty's features be descried, 
But Nature, in a pleasing form. 
Has placed a beauty in the storm. 
The rushing tempest, full of dread, 
To Beauty sometimes may be wed 
While charging o'er the spreading plain, 
Or while adown the rocky main 



100 BEA UTY. 

It madly takes a headlong course, 
Startling with bellows, rough and lioarse. 
The timid soul; yet, void of fear, 
Dame Nature holds them ever dear, 
Discards the furious moving air, 
And loves the music thunders bear. 
Though lightnings darting through a cloud, 
Earth-shaking thunders long and loud, 
Are scenes which fill a mind with awe, 
Yet if we gaze through Nature's law, 
With form defined the beauteous queen 
Amid them all is plainly seen. 

V. 
Sure all admire the graceful bow 
Which, after showers, sets heaven aglow 
With colors mixed with angel care. 
Spanning the dark and misty air: 
And, too, the creeping twilight shades 
That linger where the rainbow fades. 
Floating on wings of golden hue. 
Mid fleecy clouds of evening dew. 
While Sol betakes his daily rest 
Behind the hills adown the west. 



BEA UTY. 101 

Here Beauty rises to our view, 

In garments mingling every hue, 

Which ne'er grow old by use or age, 

Ne'er dim, though man drops from the stage 

A bunch of pride, yet, oh, how poor I 

Soon mixed with dust and known no more! 

VI. 

When daylight dies the stars appear 

Like golden dust in ether clear, 

Attendants on the milder sun 

That rules the night when day is done. 

Who will not say a starry sky 

Fair Beauty's realm doth magnify, 

Implanting in her diadem. 

With lavish hand, gem after gem, 

Till we, bewildered with her gleams. 

Succumb to love and pleasant dreams! 

VII. 

The moon, that source of mellow light, 
That wanders through a pathless height, 
Bears Beauty's image in its face, 
While pressing in its endless chase 



102 BEAUTY. 

Among the stars that crowd its way. 

And for its smile their homage pay. 

Night fills with grief when it is gone, 

And weeps till Twilight, sent by Morn, 

Knocks softly at the Orient gate 

The sun's advent to celebrate. 

When from the east the moving bars 

Shut out of sight the fleeting stars. 

And upward rolls the flaming ball 

So long ensconced behind the wall 

Of piled-up mountains capped with clouds. 

Then steps forth Beauty from the crowds 

Of starry worlds that blink no more, 

A matchless queen o'er earth to soar. 

VIII. 

There's Beauty in the growing field > 
That offers man a plenteous yield 
Of what he needs of earth's produce. 
For winter's cold— for future use; 
In tiny flowers that ever bear 
Their fragrance to the soft-lipped air; 
In rustling leaves on forest ground 
Where flowery banks and hills abound ; 



BEA UTY. 103 

In paths amid the waving grass 
Where nodding daisies bid us pass; 
In valleys where the brooklet flows, 
And grazing cattle seek repose; 
In silver fields where waving corn 
Sways in the dews of summer morn; 
In strains of music when they come 
Mingled with sounds of din and hum; 
In merry songs of birds that sing 
In autumn days or days of spring: — 
In all such scenes doth Beauty glow 
As well as in the rain and snow, 
Nor in the thousand charms around, 
That fill the sky or clothe the ground, 
Go we amiss, but find a trace 
Of Beauty's self in every place 
Where Nature's hand her art has shown, 
In beautifying Beauty's throne. 



AUGUST. 



Bright summer month, the hottest of the year! 

How ceaselessly thy fiery billows roll 

With wasting power to quench the panting soul 
That strives with hope while meeting thee with fear ! 
Resistless though thy presence, yet I hear 

Thee speak a friendly word that should condole 

My heart's forebodings, since my primal goal 
Was reached within thy burning atmosphere. 
Why should not tender thoughts my bosom till 

To think that 'neath thy reign my infant eyes 
First saw the parching earth and felt no thrill 

At thy fierce aspect or thy flaming skies? 
Ah! fifty-seven times we have met, — thou still 

Unchanged; but I so changed faint with surprise. 

104 



SOMEWHERE. 



Somewhere I look for rest, 
After I sleep in death, 
With no more care to be oppressed, 
With no more faltering breath: 

Where ransomed spirits blend 
Uplifted songs, in praise 
Of Him who doth in love transcend 
A wondering world's amaze; 

Where I may join in song, 
In an harmonious strain, 
With those who sing and know no wrong. 
Nor feel one pang of pain. 

O Lord ! though feeble dust. 
Help me to be resigned, 
To live a life of growing trust. 
Till that blest place I find. 

105 



AN OCEAN REVERY. 



No grander sight a mortal eye can see, 
No grander sound a mortal ear can hear. 

No human heart in grander spirit be, 

Than when we stand with Ocean rolling near. 

Old Ocean seems a thing of wondrous life, 
With secrets, may be, chambered in his soul; 

Of peace, perhaps; perhaps, of ceaseless strife — 
Secrets unlisped in his eternal roll. 

He reaches forth his long, relentless arms; 

Far on the shore throws up the snowy folds 
Of his wild waving robe, to music charms 

His tireless voice unceasingly upholds. 

I walk his sandy beach, a matchless floor, 
To which no art in softness can compare, 

Paved with the shells heaved from his hidden store, 
Out from that unknown deep— we know not where. 

106 



AN OCEAN REVERY. 107 

I see him rolling in his watery bed 
As if disturbed by some unpleasant dream, 

Tossing the snowy ringlets from his head, 
Both white and sparkling in the morning beam. 

I listen to his steady, pulsing roar, 
As o'er his bosom sweeps the tell-tale air, 

Till roll his billows o'er that sloping floor, 
Around my feet, alive with sunbeam glare. 

In storm or sunshine there's no time for rest 
For sleepless Ocean ! Day and night, in heat, 

In cold, the heavings of his troubled breast 
Are but the motions of a great heart's beat. 

O world of thought! Old Ocean's mystery! 

Upon its bosom mortal man may dare 
To trust his venturous bark, but never see 

The sombrous shades his hidden caverns wear. 

But does he speak? Or are those sounds I hear. 
That rushing, roaring, panting as for breath. 

The mournful tale of some one long held dear, 
Just ushered to those silent caves of death? 



108 AN OCEAN REVERY. 

The winds are racing on his bosom, wild, 

And shriek, as midnight darkness falls around. 

And mountain waves, like mountains piled 
In Alpine ranges, swell with fearful sound. 

Yon mi^ity ship is struggling with a foe 
To frenzy wrought by Neptune's angry will; 

Oh, may its giant strength the fiend o'erthrow, 
And bear its precious freight unwavering still. 

Through mists and darkness see it bravely glide, 
A conquering monarch o'er a foe so strong; 

Into the longed-for port all safely ride, 
Where welcome-greetings welcomes greet with song! 

The storms pass by, and, all serene, the face 
Of Ocean once more meets the laughing sun, 

Who, in those ringlets with such studied grace, 
Weaves dancing sunbeams as it erst had done. 

No longer doth his laboring bosom swell 

With storms as when Old Neptune's trident waves. 

For he has gone, perhaps awhile to dwell 
With loved Salacia in the deep sea caves. 



AN OCEAN REVERY. 109 

I walk again upon bis sandy shore 
Unmarked by human footsteps here or there, 

But still he keeps that steady, pulsing roar, 
And drops anew his sea-shells everywhere. 

But still the secrets in his bosom held, 
Of which my soul doth long and fondly dream, 

Are yet unlisped, and thus am I compelled 
To listen, and believe them what they seem. 

Oh soundless mysteries of Ocean deep! 

For ages past, as now, those rocks and caves 
Down in that hidden world have lain asleep, 

In silence chained beneath the sun-kisst waves. 

And, too, for long, long ages yet untold, 
There will they sleep an unread mystery; 

And though my heart in death must soon grow cold, 
'Twill be undreamed of by the dreaming sea. 



LIFE'S CALENDAR. 



Our life resembles much a calendar 

Of many pages, whereupon we may 

Behold Time's station-marks which mark our way 
While journey-making to our home afar. 
Pleased with their number, and so regular 

Doth each one seem to pass— just like a play 

Of panoramic beauty day by day — 
That we forget upon which page we are. 
As child or man, upon a pilgrimage 

Of play or toil, oft startled with surprise 
At ills, deceits, and passions, to assuage, 

We oft forget our guide, to idolize 
Some petted shadow for its patronage, 

Ere from our sight that petted shadow flies. 



n. 
We do not realize how fast the hand 

Of Time removes these way- marks one by one, 

But do as all the careless long have done, 
Gazing at some false light admiring stand. 
We thus forget to leave in wonder-land 

The dreams of childhood, when has well begun 

The toilsome work of manhood when the sun, 
At full meridian, holds o'er all command. 
Then swiftly do life's stations disappear 

As do the calends of the month go past; 
And age, with its gray hairs, comes year by year. 

Till years, like days, which once we thought so vast 
In number, now no longer vast appear. 

For heartless Time has scored the very last, 

111 



FOUNT DIVINE. 



Weak, and tempted oft to stray 
From my duty, Lord, and Thee, 

Yet, for help still will I pray, — 
Mercy for my daily plea. 

'Tis a pleasure thus to know 
Mercy waits an earnest call, 

lb a ceaseless stream to flow, 
Joy bestowing over all. 

Fount of Heav'n! with mercy filled. 
Whence my soul can draw supplies. 

Where its tremblings may be stilled 
By the blood of sacrifice; 

Never may thy joys be missed 
From a heart that needs like mine. 

For Thou ever dost exist, 

O Thou Saviour! Fount Divine! 

112 



SUMMER'S RETURN. 



Summer has come again, A painful glare 
The sun now on the deep blue sky doth shed, 
Blinding my eye while droops my fainting head. 

A furnace heat seems mingled in the air; 

Around me flowers are withering everywhere; 
By thirst the cattle to cool streams are led; 
The songless birds to shady groves have fled; 

To venture forth scarce daring mortals dare. 

But, oh! how longed I for it when the cold, 
Cold Winter held me in his icy arms! 

And many a time did Summer dreams unfold 
To my chilled senses with most lovely charms! 

Why was it that the pictures then beheld, 

Of what I had not, with such beauties swelled? 

113 



WHEN? 



When will that death-bell toll for me 
As now I hear it tolling 
For some one else?— ah! tolling 

For one now in eternity, 

While on life's billows rolling 
I yet may be? 

I've heard that death-bell often toll 
With a most solemn ringing 
On my tired ear, yes, ringing 

For some one Death had slyly stole; 
For, though to earth the body flinging. 
He took the soul. 

Still do I hear that death-bell ring 
With not unpleasant chiming 
Of music tones, but chiming 

114 



WHEN? 115 

Through summer, autumn, winter, spring, 
To every season timing 
Some bitter thing. 

That death-bell's song I do not know- 
Not what its tongue is saying 
So solemnly, ay, saying 

To that tired spirit called to go 
Somewhere while it is playing 
Its tune so slow. 

What if it reach the other shore 

With its clear voice upgoing 

Where goes that soul— upgoing 
So far as to return no more, 

Just like a river flowing 
All time before? 

But hear again that death-bell toll 

For some one as he passes 

To yonder shore, yea, passes 
A captive to the conqueror's goal, 

Where go no casts, no classes— 
Where goes my soul. 



116 WHEN? 

But when that death-bell tolls for me 
As now I hear it tolling 
For some one else, ah ! tolling 

For one gone to eternity. 
Then on life's billows rolling 
I shall not be. 



WHERE? 



Some unknown day 

When I shall lay 
My weary, aching head 
Among the peaceful dead, 

Among the dead 

Whose peaceful bed 
By Mother Earth is kindly guarded: 

Then I shall know 

No more the woe 
Experienced in my fight 
Against Death's dreaded night, 

Against Death's night 

Whose dreaded blight 
Hath long my fettered soul retarded, 

117 



118 WHERE? 

For, though in clay 

They deeply lay 
My weary, aching head 
Among the peaceful dead; — 

Among the dead 

That peaceful bed 
My unbound soul will have discarded ; 

And though men pass 

Where friendly grass 
Shall grow above the grave 
Of one they deemed a slave. 

Yet I, that slave, 

Will no more crave 
Of Earth her rest though kindly guarded. 



THE SHIP FROM SEA. 



A SHIP is coming far off on the sea, 

A speck on the boundless blue, 
And seems like a heaven-dropped mystery 

Awaking to mortal view. 

It is not a bird for it hath no wings, 
But is small as the smallest may be, 

And seems as if dropped among heavenly things, 
A speck on the boundless sea. 

I steady my eye and look with care. 
But the dainty small thing has flown 

Like a wicked sprite from the blue sea air , 
Or sunk like a flinty stone. 

Ah! has it gone down in the ocean deep? 

Or really flown into the sky? 
Forevermore must it in silence sleep? 

Or will it still glimmer on high? 

119 



130 THE SHIP FROM SEA. 

Again the clear sun has kissed the white sail, 
And it glints like a brighter star 

Than it was before, while it swells in the gale 
That bears it over the bar. 

All hail to the ship as it heaves in sight! 

A child of the Ocean born ! 
From the watery home of a boundless night, 

It reaches the harbor of morn. 



I CANNOT SEE. 



I once met an elderly lady, with a cane in her hand, slowly 

making her way along the street. Coming up to her she 

stopped and, with a plaintive but pleasant voice, 

said : "Am I right? I cannot see ! " 



I CANNOT see! The light of this bright world 
No longer beams in beauty on my soul. 
Upon life's ocean like a wreck I roll 

Mid glorious scenes which, o'er the earth unfurled, 

I cannot see. 

Ah ! must it be that what I once beheld 
So carelessly, unthinking that a night 
Of such long darkness could o'erspread my sight, 

Again, with ever-growing beauties swelled, 

I cannot see? 

121 



122 / CANNOT SEE. 

Is there no key whereby I may unlock 
The world which I so well remember seemed 
To wear a beauty brighter than I dreamed 

The future wore? Here, stranded on a rock, 

T cannot see. 

Though long my plea that some high power might give 
Me back that pleasing sense I once enjoyed— 
Perhaps unthankfully— but now destroyed, 

No answer came. In darkness still I grieve — 

I cannot see. 

Long shall I be in this dark night confined? 

The earth be in its beauteous scenery clad. 

Affording joys untold, and I be sad, 
By word maintaining that it is unkind 

I cannot see? 

Oh that could He who, once upon the earth, 
With but a touch, could to the blind restore 
The genial light, but come to earth once more 

And wake in me those sunbeams, till whose birth 

I cannot see! 



/ CANNOT SEE. 123 

It seems to me that if I reason right 
I need not be so sad, nor be denied 
All pleasures, since my soul has been supplied 

With cheer through other doors, although the light 

I cannot see. 

A jubilee then let me daily hold, 
Though shrouded in a night so lone and dark, 
Since needful comforts fill my drifting bark, 

While countless ills, which to the eye unfold, 

I cannot see. 

I bow the knee to Him who orders well 
The lots of those who in submission throw 
Their all upon His goodness, though I know, 

Whate'er my full time be on earth to dwell, 

I cannot see. 



UNANSWERED. 



Oh, that some one who now is passsing through that 

door 
Still swinging where the souls departed heretofore • 
Looked on the brighter prospects of that other shore. 

Could only linger there and tell me what doth lie 
Beyond that door, forever swinging, while they try 
The secrets hidden of that darkness to espy, 

That, while my few days here I linger, I might know 
The certainties of that dark region where I go, 
Of what it is, if far above me or below ! 

But, do you tell me no one ever lingered there, 
Or has been known to speak to mortals anywhere, 
When once they reach that sable portal none forswear? 

124 



UNANSWERED. 135 

Of all the crowds that have been going, going fast, 
Through that strange doorway, gathering visions that 

were cast 
Upon them ere the death-line station they had passed, 

Say, is it true that no fair record can be found 
Where their experience has been treasured — not a 

sound 
Of parting voice, or faintest whisper, earth around? — 

That to that door hath been no mortal who returned 
With truthful message, to man showing what has 

learned 
The long-gone pilgrim w hen himself the truth dis- 
cerned? 

If tlius my Reason leaves me groping in the dark 

Of night eternal, and unlighted by a spark 

Of sunny hope to safely guide my wandering bark 

Through this uncertain life of trackless ocean waste, 
With all uncertain, save the speed with which I haste 
To reach my fate with steps no more to be retraced, 



126 UNANSWERED. 

Then will I rather choose for guidance, truth or lie, 
That which my troubled conscience comforts till I die, 
Believing that I may with new life vivify. 

I know from yond returns no mortal me to guide; 

But well I know that Revelation doth provide 

A cheerful hope, with harmless pleasures undenied; 

And, therefore, will my trembling spirit henceforth keep 
Near to that light, my only comfort, while I sweep 
Adown life's torrent to what seems an endless sleep. 



MYSELF. 



1. 
A COMBINATION am I, triune-made, 

Uncomprehended by my feeble sense 

In all its workings, yet, in excellence, 
A combination that must e'er upbraid 
My vacillating faith that would evade 

The fact of my existence. What offence 

Could more express my stultish impudence 
Than the denial that I am? A shade 
Of doubt may cause a doubting mind to chain 

His own belief to some one's greater doubt, 
Because unsettled in his own weak brain; 

But that I am a grand combine throughout 
Of Body, Life and Spirit, I retain — 

If aught I know — no second thought about. 

127 



BODY. 

2. 

A MASTERPIECE of no unskillful hand 
Is boldly outlined in the human frame, 
The only part of man the eye can claim 

A knowledge of, or hold at its command; 

And though the simplest part to understand 
Of his true being, yet, with little fame. 
Can he by right assume a conqueror's name. 

So often foiled by secrets contraband. 

Be it a piece of workmanship misused, 
By an usurping Spirit, as a drudge 

To foulest passions and unchaste desires; 

Still doth it rise with grandest light transfused, 

To him who claims to be an honest judge 

Of what is noble whereto man aspires. 



LIFE. 



When I behold my body, knowing what 
It is to-day, and is erelong to be, 
Exposed to ills no reason can foresee, 

And doomed to earth like all by earth begot, 

Within it I see something I see not 
In other things, through subtle pedigree 
By might evoked, and held by firm decree,- 

A Life in kinship close allied to thought. 

It does not think nor act, and is unseen 
In its connections, though its absence tells 

Where it has been, for death must supervene 
Where, with the spirit, it no longer dwells. 

And the deserted Body falls to earth. 

Lost as a relic of its former birth. 

129 



SPIRIT. 

4. 

Eternal Spirit! voiceless and unseen 
To ear or eye, and measured by no art 
At Time's command, but yet tbe typic part 

Of man in a degree tbat stands between 

The matter made and what itself can glean 
Of the unmade, how my bewildered heart 
Doth at the thought of thee in wonder start. 

And often ask what doth thy presence mean. 

Mysterious ruler o'er the realm of Life, 
Within my Body shut, thou boldest sway 

In thine own house through peace or strife, 
A house of flesh constructed for a day. 

And, like thyself, with startling wonders rife; 
But thou, like it, art doomed to no decay. 

130 



CONCLUSION. 



Thus I, a combination most sublime 
Of Body, Life, and Spirit, all for one 
Grand purpose blended, a short race to run, 

Am faintly pictured in the glass of Time. 

The paths of thought unitedly we climb, 
Discussing which to try and which to shun, 
That well may terminate the well-begun. 

In good well-grounded, and unscarred by crime. 

Thou mighty combination, shadowing forth 
The great I AM, art by His power controlled — 
Companions on a journey limited 

To one short day, then seeming all to earth 
Consigned ; but surely earth can never hold 
A living Spirit in a Body dead. 

131 



AMERICA. 



I GLORY in thy name, America! 
Thy noble sons for Freedom bled. 
Oppression dared by Honor led^- 
Now congregated with the dead — 

And showed the world thy fame, America! 

Thy banners till the sky, America, 
And proudly wave o'er land and sea, 
Bright stars and stripes of liberty, 
Beneath whose folds are found the free 

Who for thy stars will die, America! 

I speak of thee in pride, America! 
So wise has grown thy nation's art. 
So well has wisdom played her part. 
That into life inventions start 

Before thy sweeping tide, America! 

132 



AMERICA, 133 

Grand is thy varied land, America! 

What mountains, rocks, and caves,and streams! 

How with grand lakes thy bosom gleams! 

How fair the sun upon thee beams — 
Child from thy Maker's hand, America! 

Thy wise and sacred laws, America, 
Secure thy children freedom's reign, 
Unharmed by deeds of monarchs vain, 
And now released from slavery's chain. 

Most glorious is thy cause, America! 

Let other nations boast, America, 
Of mightier power in point of arms, 
Of wiser arts, of richer charms. 
Of spicy lands and fragrant balms, 

But all in thee are lost, America! 

A worthy land is thine, America, 
Enriched by wisdom and with gold, 
With faithful hearts and warriors bold 
Too proud to bow to kings of old. 

The cherished home of mine, America! 



QUIET EVE. 



A QUIET eve is coming now, 
Down dropping from the mountain brow 
Upon the valley decked with green. 
Where silver waters blink between 
The branches of some willow bough. 

And fast the light 

Fades into night 
With blushes most serene. 

Out in the grove now let me go, 
Where fragrant airs a dreaminess throw. 
Where sunset song-birds songs are singing. 
Where squirrels home their stores are bringing. 
Where summer breezes softly blow, 

Where flowers lift up 

Their empty cup 
For dewdrops Eve is flinging. 

134 



QUIET EVE. 135 

Upon a bank of fragrant brake, 

Fanned by the breezes form the lake, 

Upheld by an eternal ledge 

That gently slopes to the water's edge. 

Where whispering leaves sweet music make, 

Singing their lay 

Where ripples play 
Among the tall gray sedge; 

There let my care-worn body lie, 
My restless spirit upward fly, 
For sure these fairy scenes below, 
Are but a heavenly overflow, 
Where I can truly satisfy 
My heart's desire 
When I retire 
Life's fairest dreams to know. 



SPRING DELAYED. 



O TARDY Spring, where hast thou been delayed? 

Has Winter mischief wrought with ice and snow, 

And in thy wonted path, with chill and blow, 
So furious stood that thou hast been afraid? 
Come hither now! Well may we feel dismayed, 

For all so barren seems where'ere we go. 

If thou shalt come or stay we scarcely know, 
Though taught that Nature's voice must be obeyed. 
Oh, come again! Come, deck these native hills, 

Revive these fields, reclothe these leafless trees, 
Lend music once more to these mountain rills, 

Bring forth the honeyed flowers for hungering bees. 
And let thy cheerful voice, which memory fills. 

In songs be heard like grand incoming seas. 

136 



THE WANDERER. 



Op sorrows none from me have been withheld, 

None passed me by! Abroad there are but storms 

Of sin and pain! Yea, death rules this wide world! 

Land of my childhood ! There my kindred are 

At rest, while I a wand'rer am, unwept 

By one befriending eye ! Long for a friend 

I've sought, and often faultless many found. 

As seemed, were seeming not an idle dream; 

But, unobserved, conflicting passions came 

And centered in their hearts, an evil swarm. 

To block the stream of sympathetic love. 

Without a friend to weep with in my pains. 

Or home, or bed for my poor, weary frame, 

Alone I wandered trusting in that God 

Who hears the contrite's prayer with yielding grace. 

On mother earth my bed I made, and, wrapped 

In sleety mists of summer's sultry air, 

137 



138 THE WANDERER. 

Or clad in winter's furious northern blasts, 
I sought it for repose. Sharp were the frosts 
That gathered on my whitened locks; and chills 
Were wont to shake my shattered frame, while warm 
Were those around in mansions of their own, 
Where they were happy — happy in themselves. 
Where pride sprang up as passed the merry hours. 
But small their home to mine! Theirs, made by man. 
With wood was bound to stop the rage of storms. 
Not so with mine. Mine reached the starry skies, 
And spanned the earth around, commanding night 
And day alike. The moon and stars, my lamps, 
Were signal comforts in my midnight hours. 
When naught beside I saw, save blackened trees, 
High lifting up their moon lit tops, or dark 
Their shaggy trunks below. These were my friends, 
And only these I had, for man forgot 
To shed one sympathizing tear to stir 
My fainting soul to life, left all alone 
To beasts of prey exposed, while he at ease, 
Beside his cheerful fire reclined, cared not 
For one distressed, whose life seemed ebbing fast 
And soon its course would end. I did not weep 
My lonely state, but wept tliat man should be 
Thus toward a stranger hardened, who would make 



THE WANDERER. 139 

Heaven's pearly dewdrops serve his scanty meal, 
And with the savage beasts make up his bed, 
Than cause one unkind word his lips to pass. 

I, fearing man's reproach, night after night. 

Thus made my bed upon the frozen street, 

With keenest hunger gnawing in my breast, 

So fierce I could not sleep. Morn followed night, 

And raging appetite, still keener set. 

Would fret my fevered soul, arousing thus 

My harsher thoughts, and, like a madman hard 

To check, my evil passions rose, and oft 

I wished cold death would come. Such thoughts 

annoyed 
Me, even starting into life to swell 
My nightly vision. They were hard to bear, 
So frequently reverted back my mind. 
To fill itself with terror at such dark, 
Unfriendly characters. 'Twas hunger's pain 
That forced me to my neighbor's door to ask 
A humble pittance from his overflow. 
It mattered not how small the gift; though but 
A morsel small, it weighed a trifle in 
The scale of grand benevolence. But meals 
Of scant allowance, stronger seemed to make 



140 THE WANDERER. 

Desires for more. Ungrateful wretch was I ! 
Oft discontented with such kindness shown, 
Wished judgment on their heads to teach them how 
A stranger serve, and show fair friendship to 
A wandering brother. Reason then had fled, 
Or evil spirits claimed my soul, for these 
Were Satan's own sugestions. I thought not 
How beasts and birds were fed: but often in 
My pains, a murmuring spirit rose that I 
Received so hard a fare, while forest haunts 
Had bountiful supplies. Then was I shocked 
When reason showed me wrong, though well I knew 
The barbarous hearts of men. I thought of those 
Who, like myself, inherited this load 
Of cares; then thoughts arose with calm redress. 
Reflection showed me not alone; but friends 
There were whose stock of pity was not yet 
Expended. Grieve they might like me, a wretch 
Deserving only shame, they still had love 
Drawn from their deepest heart, and that for me. 

Then was my mind enlivened in its sphere, 
And all was smiling at my happiness ! 
The cold and chilly dew of morn was now 
More sweet, and nightly visions only swelled 



THE WANDERER. 141 

"With teeming pleasures. Then myself I laid 

Upon my couch of earth, outbreathing praise 

For such a blessing; yet I murmured once 

To be so far cast off from all resort 

To human aid, which comes like fickle gales 

When summer pleasures in expansion fly, 

And wrap the thankless hearts of haughty men. 

Commingling elements of pride and scorn 

Once fired my heart, as now most men they do; 

Bat adverse storm- winds raged and limited 

My glowing spark. Darkness ensued; and o'er 

Me fell a deadening blight, polluting all 

The channels of my flattering hopes laid up 

As store for what I might enjoy. 1 once 

Saw not the terrors of this earthly prison, 

Where millions scattered at their tasks, toil on 

Their way— at times a pleasant way. Once joined, 

With them I bore a part, till fortune failed, 

And all my hopes a ruin fell. 

A home 
I once possessed, where parents loved me as 
Their only son, oft kissing down my cheeks 
In youth's bright morn, and laying claims for joys 
Unseen which future days for me might bring. 
They dreamed in error of my future state. 



143 THE WANDERER. 

Cared for by few, e'en those with jealous care, 

A mark for scorn, a wandering vagabond, 

A beggar driven through the streets within 

His native place, in tattered garments old 

And brown — all this from fortune's wheel I drew. 

My sole possession! Bat I wish not theirs. 

Though golden crowns and siliis for show adorn 

Their whitened frames unused to Nature's cold, 

Which on her tribes bestows the glow of health. 

I wish not for the riches they so love, 

To weigh my burdened mind with deeper care. 

Though w^ell I might a betterment desire; 

Yet, sweeter is my present peace than were 

The case reversed. Wlien reason holds its sway, 

I wish their life a happy one; but fear, 

A ghostly spectre flashes in my face, 

And smothers all my hopes and good desires. 

They may to-morrow be but beggars, sad 

And lonely, seeking here and there for bread. 

Real friends of mine. Thus changes may revolve, 

O'erthrowing those who least expect the blow. 

And sumptuous man a daily beggar be. 

I'm now at peace with all around, and one 
Spot have, which, sacred to my broken heart, 



THE WANDERER, 143 

Lies in a peaceful vale of yonder land, 

Where childhood met me on the road of life. 

Within that vale my parents sleep, and there 

Have slept from early days where memory 

Scarce can extend. 'Twas there that ferventist 

Arose my prayers; but now I'm far away, 

No more to wet with tears those flowers that wave 

Above and round those silent graves. Oh, knew 

They half the trials of their once fair son. 

They, too, his prayer would join, that he might sleep 

Close by their side! But why a prayer like this? 

Too much I ne'er can do though life were made 

In years to far exceed its present bound. 

I need not fear, but boldly urge my way, 

And sing the songs that cheer undying souls 

In glory. Long this clay house has been mine 

To work for better things. But now my body 

Is hasting to decay, and only death 

Do I await. Already do I see 

It near, and glad shall be to lay me down. 

Whene'er my time shall fully come. I would 

Not wish life shorter cut than God allows, 

But welcome will it be whene'er He calls! 

Then who will weep for me? Go, shed your tears 

For those ye love, and leave my worthless dust 



144 THE WANDERER. 

Unknown! It must be so, for who have I 
To weep my exit from this heedless world? 
Oh! will my body lie in Nature's safe 
Retreat, and with no useless pomp to cast 
A shade upon my quick forgotten name? 
Blest hope of mine ! My feeble limbs revive 
At such a thought! No hunger then can touch 
This aching frame, which now so sharply stings 
With cares and sorrows. 

These my feelings are, 
And now for death I wait; and when the great 
Transforming change shall come, and of the earth 
The parting look I take, and one by one 
The moon and stars in mellow light go out; 
And when my tattered mantle round my damp. 
Cold frame I gather, then my soul will bid 
A glad farewell, and soar unseen to heaven. 



SHAKESPEARE. 



As doth the sun, a flaming central ball 
In our grand universe of worlds, dispense, 
On every side and everywhere, a sense 

Of warmth and life, and comfort give to all; 

As doth no wayward power its might enthrall 
That it should fail, through an improvidence, 
Of light prolonged, while with benevolence 

Its gifts so grand on man forever fall: 

So, like this sun, O Shakespeare! on the world 
Doth thy rare genius shine, nor leave unknown 

A nook where thy rich humor hath not hurled 
Its pointed shafts, till all earth's nations own 

That on Fame's highest pinacle, unfurled, 

A banner stands thy hand to Time has thrown. 



BOATING. 



Boatman, ready! 

Slow and steady- 
Hear the waters round us dash, 

While our singing 

Echo 's bringing 
From the shore where ripplets splash. 

Now we're gliding, 

Out-bound riding. 
O'er the sea a merry crew. 

With sails streaming. 

And clouds dreaming, 
In the heaven's o'erhanging blue. 

With day brightening 
And hearts lightening, 
Let us take our comfort now; 

146 



BOATING. 147 

Sol is shining 

So refining, 
Sorrow hides her shaded brow. 

Drink of pleasure 

Fullest measure; 
What shall tempt our hearts so gay 

To cease chanting 

Until slanting 
Fall the rays of closing day? 

Home returning. 

Fires still burning. 
We will close our embered hearth, 

And while sleeping, 

Angels keeping, 
Leave in dreams this little earth; 

Never tiring, 

Heavenward flying, 
View the home of spirits blest, 

Then awaking 

At morn breaking. 
Once more be the boatman's guest. 



TO W. F. DECKER, SR. 



When I remember how at first we met 
As world-wide strangers— some few years ago — 
How little did I think so fast would grow 

A slight acquaintance we so oft forget. 

But like a jewel in a coronet 

Of regal worth, or like the seed we throw 
Into the ground, our friendship still, I trow, 

No lustre lacks, nor doth ill-growth beset. 

Such sympathy, of its own self, oft springs 
Within accordant hearts; and, like the tree 
Well-cultured and in good soil set, it bears 

Well-ripened, pleasant fruit; for though Time wings 
His flight, and seasons change through his decree. 
True Friendship an unchanging glory wears. 

148 



A COMPARISON. 



Behold the bright flower that blossoms 

So fragrant and fair! 
How fondly smiles on it its owner 

Who rears it with care! 
But soon the cold winds of autumn 

Creep through it with chill, 
Till nothing remains of the flower 

But the stalk in the hill. 

Thus daily are fading companions, 

The dearest that bloom; 
Thus friendships the tenderest are severed, 

And cloud us with gloom; 
But when we awake new-blossomed, 

There'll be no more fear. 
For thenceforth no autumn destroyer 

Will ever appear. 



CONTEMPLATION. 



Come to the sunny hills 

Where sunbeams brightly glance, 
Come, feel the joyous thrills 

Of Hesper's evening dance, 
And in her fading light, 

Relieved from daily care. 
Watch how the shades of night 

Embrace the mountain air. 

Come to the fragrant grove 
When music in its round, 

Awakes the wood alcove 
With Nature's festive sound; 

150 



CONTEMPLATION. 151 

Here let our hearts aspire 

To soar from earth away, 
And drink of Hebe's fire, 

While Muses round us play. 

Come to the deep blue sea. 

When high its billows roll, 
Though held by lock and key 

Securely as the soul. 
For the music of its roar, 

Caught by the whispering gale, 
Is murmring on the shore 

Some legendary tale. 

Come to the place of mirth 

Where life is worshipped most, 
Where careless sons of earth 

Forget the moments lost, 
Forget how fleet their days, 

How false the changeful light 
That leads them in their plays. 

Then vanishes from sight. 

Come to the churchyard gloom 
With tears for those who die, 



152 CONTEMPLA TION. 

Who fill the new-made tomb. 
And show how we must lie; 

Soon will our life be o'er, 
Our stars soon cease to rise, 

Our sun appear no more, 
Nor glow our summer skies. 

Yes, come to the house of death ! 

Ye earthly-minded, come 
Where floats the parting breath 

Of one returning home; 
Thus must your bodies lie. 

And ye go hence to dwell, 
A spirit blessed on high. 

Or 'mid the woes of hell. 



REFLECTIONS. 



Alas! my childhood days have swiftly fled! 
Now manhood's age is passing in their stead, 
That age to which I looked with anxious eye, 
In former days when youth was passing by. 
Too soon it came ; for ere I had a thought, 
Time, moving on, the present days had brought, 
And now I see only in past review 
The scenes remote I once with pleasure knew. 

Day after day my books I studied o'er. 

Thus adding daily to my mental store, 

In order that, when life's cold winter comes, 

I might withdraw the treasured little sums. 

Wise as an ant mj' scheming plans I laid. 

Working what seemed a new, fame-giving trade. 

Though long regarding it of little worth 

To spend a life so drudgingly on earth. 

My mind, untaught, desired no better use 



154 REFLECTIONS. 

Than think the hours it spent in school recluse. 
Though kindest parents with me strongly plead 
To seize the present ere forever tied. 

Then was the time I thought myself quite wise, 
A master man, surpassed by none in size; 
But facts expanding, wonder filled my mind, 
For, while I learned, the more I learned to find. 
When first I thought all Science was in view. 
The thought expressed how little then I knew. 
My childish fancy, soaring mountain high, 
Thought soon to reach the limits of the sky; 
But mounting up where starry worlds extend. 
At last I cried, "Oli, where does Science end?" 
And when I stood on Understanding's tower, 
New lights upsprung and with a wondrous power 
Broke through the line that girt my vision round, 
The seeming end of all in Science found. 
What first I thought the final of her train, 
Erelong I found was where commenced her reign; 
At first unknown, beginning then to shine. 
Expanding fields without a bounding line. 

Orthography, the science first I took, 
I studied o'er, then sought another book 



REFLECTIONS. 155 

Which should unfold a more extensive field 
Than what I found the present one could yield. 
With sound instruction falling in my way, 
Onward I sped like one at foolish play, 
Oft lingering here, or leaping far ahead, 
Leaving unsearched life's priceless golden bed. 

But here, at last, upon a desert sand, 
Vainly I look to find that verdant land 
O'er which in youth my feet so lightly trod, 
For scarce a mark now bears the beaten sod. 
Alas! I gaze upon this desert vast. 
So dark, so blank, far stretching o'er the past! 
But ah! those scenes so full of beauty then, 
But half enjoyed, do not return again; 
Though, to my mind reflected dimly, all 
Come crowding on, yet most untimely fall; 
Like autumn leaves when summer days are o'er, 
They flutter, fly, and drop, but rise no more. 



TO WALT WHITMAN. 



Prophetic Bard! Thou dost behold, through years 
Of coming time, for heavenly Poesy 
A newer age, which, though so few can see, 

To thy broad vision luminous appears. 

A Hercules thou art, by critic sneers 
Undaunted ; or of Atlas pedigree 
That thou canst back a world's philosophy. 

Nor fear the clamor of the would-be seers. 

A venturous bard wert thou alone to choose 

A path untrodden, one that reached so far 

Beyond the lore of this expanding day. 

For thou hadst all to gain or all to lose. 
To be a meteor, or a constant star. 

Or, what thou art, a Sun to shine for aye! 

156 



TWO REFLECTIONS. 



I. 

I STOOD beside a crystal spring, 
While round it fell the shades of eve. 
And, gazing in it, could perceive 

The golden gleam of Twilight's wing. 

There hung the vaulted, clear blue sky; 
And there a myriad starry faces 
Were twinkling like celestial Graces, 

Reflected from the world on high. 

II. 

I stood beside a cradle where 
A little child lay fast asleep, 
And though I saw no angels keep 

Their watch while I was standing there. 

Yet fast it slept in their embrace! 
No dreamed-of beauty did it lack, 
For heaven itself seemed mirrored back. 

In that dear little baby's face. 

157 



BROTHERHOOD. 



Passions there are to which man's heart is debtor 
For rarest pleasures, as through life undauuted 
He presses on his way; but though enchanted 

By fair surroundings, still some foul abettor 

Of discord may in waiting lie to fetter 

His free enjoyment. Yet, though grimly haunted 
By such distractions, to him hath been granted 

The social charm of Friendship, a begetter 

Of highest joys from which his heart obtainetli 
Unlimited delights; which, when reflected 

As his own mirrored self, another gaineth, 

And in return, by strengthened bonds connected, 

A universal love in force remaineth, 

And one grand brotherhood is thus effected. 
158 



TO JUNE. 



Bright, sunny June! from some far southern sphere 

We welcome thee, and in thy sure return 

That ceaseless care of Providence discern 
Which bids once more thy smiling face appear. 
The fruitful fields thy gentle footsteps hear; 

The flowers a-blossomed for thy raindrops yearn ; 

The fruits their blushing cheeks for kisses turn, 
And man to thee lifts up his heart for cheer. 
Oh, how thy skies and balmy airs entice 

His sluggish soul from its dull haunt to glide 
Out into freedom, and through thy device 

A new world enter, which — as doth a bride — 
Itself adorns as earth's sweet Paradise, 

Where he, its chosen monarch, may preside. 

159 



KINDNESS. 



Of all pleasures to me given, 
While I wander through life's maze, 

Is the thought that I have striven 
True to keep to Wisdom's ways. 

That I may not go astray. 

That I may not do a wrong 
To a brother by the way, 

Is my daily prayer and song. 

How my heart with pleasure throbs, 
When my hand restores again 

Joys for which my brother sobs, 
Tortured by the hand of pain. 

Such, indeed, are ways of peace! 

Try them, ye who peace would find! 
Walking in them will increase 

Choicest pleasures for the mind. 
160 



A PARAPHRASE OF THE XXXIV AND XXXV 
CHAPTERS OF ISAIAH. 



PART I. 



THE JUDGMENT. 

Come, all ye nations of the earth, and hear! 

The indignation of your Lord is near! 

His fury rests upon the armed host 

Of every people to the farthest coast; 

Utter destruction hath he on them laid, 

And to the slaughter cast them off dismayed. 

Their slain become disgusting in their sight; 

The mountains melt where raged the bloody fight; 

The host of heaven dissolves with quaking fear; 

The rolling skies confound the listening ear. 

And all the starry orbs, the great and small, 

As autumn leaves, or figs untimely, fall; 

For, bursting through the cloud-enveloped sky, 

Jehovah's sw^jrd for vengeance meets the eye — 



162 A P ABA PHRASE. 

A scourge come down on Idumean land, 
Where cursed people ripe for judgment stand. 
'Tis filled with blood of offered goats and rams; 
At Bozrah slays the sacrifice of lambs; 
The unicorn, the bullock and the bull, 
Their blood pM>ur out to fiow the country full. 
For 'tis the day the great Jehovah chose 
To show his vengeance on his boasting foes, 
Th' appointed year to render the reward 
For Zion's controversy with their Lord. 

Behold thy streams, O Idumea, behold! 

All turned to pitch, and dust to brimstone rolled! 

The very ground on which thy people tread. 

Prepared for tire, becomes a pitchy bed; 

Nor shall it e'er be quenched; but, night and day. 

Its smoke forever take its upward way. 

And nations, yet unknown, shall hear it roar. 

But none pass through it— none forevermore. 

Within thy land what voices strange are heard ! 
Thou art possessed by flocks of every bird ; 
The cormorant and bittern thee have found; 
The owl and raven dwell within thy bound : 



A PARAPHRASE. 163 

Destruction falls on every biding place, 

And strange confusion mars thy once fair face. . 

Thy people call the nobles of their land, 
But they are not; their princes nothing stand. 
Within thy palaces, which gold adorns, 
Springs up a mass of rank, luxuriant thorns; 
And on thy fortresses, once famed in fight, 
Nettles and brambles crown the terraced height; 
Where once dwelt men, the dragon takes his rest; 
Upon thy walls the owl erects her nest; 
The desert sends bloodthirsty hords to thee, 
And through thy bounds they hunt at liberty; 
Those from the island meet the desert there; 
The fabled satyr seeks his fellow's lair; 
The owl within her nest rears up her brood. 
And vultures seek thy children slain for food. 

PART II. 
mesiah's reign. 
The wilderness and solitary place, 
Now in the scene, lift up a smiling face; 
And, too, the desert, once obscured in woes, 
Shall now rejoice and blossom as the rose, 



164 A PARAPHRASE. 

Yea, plentifully blossom, and rejoice 

With joy and singing swelled by every voice. 

Proud Lebanon, with cedars ever fair, 

And beauteous Carmel shall be blooming there. 

And fertile Sharon's excellence and pride, 

Shall newer glories for the scene provide. 

Arise! ye prophet, whom the Lord declares. 
Formed in his image, his bright glory wears! 
Confirm the knees that falter in their course, 
And to the weakened hands restore their force. 
Say unto them who bear a fearful heart: 
" Be strong! Fear not! Gk>d takes a vengeful part. 
He breaks your foes, rewards the righteous brave — 
Behold your Godl he comes, he comes to save!" 

Then shall the blind lift up their eyes and see; 
The deaf rejoice — their ears, unstopped, are free; 
The lame shall leap as leaps the springing hart; 
The listening dumb in singing take a part; 
And from the dreary wilderness shall flow 
Delicious streams, and watered deserts glow ; 
The parched ground with sparkling pools shall stand, 
And springs of water feed the thirsty land ; 



A PARAPHRASE. 165 

Within the caves where lone the dragon lay, 

Green grass and reeds and rushes strew the way. 

There for the wanderer afar from home, 

A way shall be where naught unclean can roam, 

A way so light, so free from shade of sin, 

Wayfaring men can never err therein. 

No roaring lion finds admittance there, 

Nor ravenous beast essays to breathe its air. 

But the redeemed shall walk in glory free, 

To Zion come its habitants to be. 

And everlasting joy shall on them rest. 

As they return, the ransomed and the blessed, 

And then their hearts shall joy and gladness gain, 

Where sorrows flee, and sighings cease to pain. 



THE MODERN CRITIC. 



What is the critic of our modern days? 

A critic of books and papers I mean, 
One who judges of other folks' writings. 

And weighs them for some high-toned magazine. 

Or in some second-class newspaper 
Perhaps his frothy productions appear. 

Where he edits a certain department 
For so many dollars a year. 

Possessed of most wonderful acumen — 

Which all such diligent fellows must show — 

He puffs or condemns this, that and the other. 
Trusting his readers will no better know; 

Just as if hi.< own little fancy 

Was the hinge on which merit must swing. 
And that simply by opening and slamming his door. 

The fate of his brother he could easily bring. 

166 



THE MODERN CRITIC. 167 

He aims not to tell what his brother has said, 
So much as what he would have him mean, 

Hunting, perhaps, with his own morbid brain, 
For love-tales most filthy and obscene. 

Or if he has a metaphysical leaning 
For the wonderful, wise and mysterious, 

He opes like a clam beside the great ocean, 
With a majesty comico-serious. 

To show off his store of great learning, 

He talks of the lore of past ages, 
Of Greek, Roman, Egyptian and what not. 

To fill up his half score of pages 

With arguments, long and weary, about 
What the writer might and should have said, 

Forgetting that whoever wrote the book, 

Wrote from his own and not the critic's head. 

And though he finds unpardonable errors 

In some young, inexperienced quill. 
Ten chances to one if the wise critic 

Doesn't do as badly, and sometimes worse still; 

Declaring the author will never be read. 

Because neither up to Swinburne nor Browning; 



168 THE MODERN CRITIC 

But often the people look over the head 
Of this scribe — in forgetfulness drowning — 

And read the new master uprising, 

Whom the pen of no scribbler can scare, 

And the longer they read the stronger they love. 
Though the critic has gone — no matter where. 

As thus in a grand pyrotechnic display, 
Doth he like a flaming sky-rocket explode, 

So down from the sky as quickly descend, 
Just merely the stick on which the light rode. 

But yet we cannot well do without him; 

He serves for the moment as spice for the papers. 
And as children are pleased with the antics of mon- 
keys. 

So people are pleased with the critic's wild capers. 

O Publishers, feed them! Pay them well, 
And let the young bloods still bluster and bellow. 

For among the gay crowd of course we can find 
An occasional downright good fellow. 



CHANGED. 



Oh, how the thunders shook his frame! 
He heard the Saviour speak his name, 
But when the shock had rent his mind, 
Mercy at once he sought to find. 

Trembling beside a frightful flood, 
In awful silence pale he stood; 
To dare the stream caused him to start— 
Oh, who can tell a sinner's heart! 

There dwelt he long on life or death, 
Till cries for sin near stopped his breath. 
And with his guilt still swelling fast, 
He weeping said, "My time is past! " 

A darkness on the waters lay; 
Yonder a friend was on his way. 
Yet, oh, the somber, murmuring wave 
His soul a chilling death-sting gave. 



170 CHANGED. 

He had a book. Looking therein 
He learned of an escape from sin, 
For, though a sinner old and vile, 
The Lord had said, " I'll wait awhile."* 

With this new hope his stagnant blood 
Revived; then plunged he neath the flood. 
And while his burden floated by, 
What glories filled his once dark sky! 

Then found he in the Cross a joy 
No sins could evermore destroy; 
His soul upsprung in praise and prayer. 
Amid the showers of blessings there. 

His stony heart most strangely grew. 
Through love divine, a spirit new. 
Nor longer sought the ways of sin, 
But drank true peace and pleasure in. 

* And therefore will the Lord wait that he may be gracious 
unto you.— Isaiah, 30: 18. 



DOWN IN THE DINGLE. 



Down in the dingle the trees among, 
Where soul stirring birds so constantly sung, 
Thy voice, my love, with them oft did mingle, 
The happiest one in the merry jingle 
That up the high hills so sweetly rung. 

Ah! do you remember how to thee I clung? 
How my whole soul with rapture did tingle 
At thy soft music entrancingly flung 
Down in the dingle? 

O dreams of the past! How they sprung 
From the music that fell from thy tongue! 
How the firelight would die in the ingle, 
And the storms on the roof beat the shingle, — 
Forgotten when we were careless and young 
Down in the dingle. 

171 



LOST INSPIRATION. 



I CANNOT write to-day. My laboring mind 
Is strangely darkened, as if by a veil, 
So that with closest search I only fail 

An outward pathway from this night to find. 

A pleasant field I had long since outlined; 
But now I'm like a ship without a sail, 
Or like the silent canvas without gale, 

And know not what to do while so confined. 

O wandering Muse! why hast thou left me thus? 
Return once more and from my heart demure. 

Remove this strange, unfriendly incubus 
That holds my inspiration so secure, 

That when I would thy glorious name salute, 

A silence reigns — my weeping soul is mute. 
172 



THE BRIGHT SIDE. 



All is not dark this side of Heaven, 

As many try to make it, 
For earth, when viewed with common eyes, 

Whichever way we take it, 
Behind, above, on every side. 

Through clouds of darkness dashing, 
Doth often pass some loophole made, 

Through which a light is flashing, 
That bears us messages of cheer 

From some bright region hidden. 
Perhaps far off, and yet so near 

That it can come unbidden. 
Light sheddeth comfort over all, 

So mild, sometimes it seemeth 
The saintly rapture of the mind 

Where youth in quiet dreameth; — 
Alike abounding everywhere, 

On near or far off nations, 

173 



174 THE BRIGHT SIDE. 

On every kindred, tribe and tongue, 

On high and lowly stations. 
And though at times the earth appears 

Only with darkness blended, 
Yet, as when hours are spent in sleep. 

The night is soonest ended: 
So, soonest comes returning light 

Through lingering storm or flurry. 
To those who hold to patience firm. 

And never scold nor worry. 

O bright illumination, spread 

In turns the whole earth over. 
Sure to return with gladdening ray 

To lands the dark clouds cover! 
Would man but spend one-half the time 

In thankfully reviewing 
The goods received, he does the ills 

He thinks the future brewing, 
How bright his pathway would appear! 

How through the cloud-rifts flowing, 
The silvery light, with cheerful hope. 

Would set his spirit glowing. 



ACKNOWLEDGEMENT. 



Remember, Lord, us mortals poor — 
Poor dwellers on thine earth below, 

And since thou standest at our door, 
Come in, and lasting peace bestow. 

We ill repay the ceaseless care 
Of one so great, so good as thou. 

And yet thou hear'st the feeblest prayer 
Of those who at thy footstool bow. 

Though but frail worms upon the soil 
Thy hand creative hath prepared, 

We recognize, awhile we toil, 
A higher life yet to be shared. 

From thee doth come our daily store; 

From thee all comforts here enjoyed ;- 
All hopes we look for evermore, 

The only true and unalloyed. 

175 



176 A CKNO WLEDGEMENT. 

How shall we dare assume the debt 
Such boundless love doth on us lay, 

Though no vain price thy word hath set 
On gifts downfiowing day by day ! 

Forgetful though we oft may be, 
From whence we draw such sure supplies, 

Yet we are ne'er forgot by thee, 
Invisible to mortal eyes. 

Our thanks accept for gifts received; 

'Tis all we have wherewith to pay; 
And till from earthly bonds relieved. 

With stronger love may we obey. 



THE GREEDY BEGGAR. 



A LAZY vagabond who would not work, 
But sought to live upon his neighbor's store, 

Who wandered, reckless as an Arab Turk, 
Begging his daily bread from door to door, 

Did chance one day to meet a stranger who 
Appeared to be well off in this world's goods, 

And so he planned what he himself would do, 
While both were passing through the lonely woods. 

He little cared just how his ends were met, 
If what he wanted was with safety gained ; 

Though really he was not a robber, yet 
To legal acts he would not be restrained. 

"Good sir," said he, "you see how much I need 

A little help to ease my life along. 
And you, I know, will gladly give to feed 

The sick and weak, since you are hale and strong. 

177 



178 THE GREEDY BEOOAR. 

The stranger viewed him with a puzzled eye. 
Uncertain in what class he really stood, 

Whether a beggar, or a robber shy 
Attended by his outlaw brotherhood. 

But from his pocket he a package drew: 

"Yes, I will help you, my dear fellow — here!" 

And then the package to the beggar threw, 
Who, looking at it, thus began to sneer: 

'* Now this is very good, dear sir ; but hold! 

I did expect from one so rich and thrifty. 
Not simply a five-dollar piece of gold. 

But really thought 't would be not less than fifty ! ' 

The stranger quick as thought: "Sure as I live, 
1 was, indeed, too stingy with my money; 

Return the five, and in its place receive 
This fifty. Strange how I forget! How funny! 

"But hurry to your cronies. By and by 

My friend will be along, an officer. 
Who will arrest you for a robber sly. 

And hale you into court, a prisoner." 



THE GREEDY BEGGAR. 179 

They parted, each one taking his own way: 
The stranger fearing some foul fiend to meet; 

The beggar, fearing danger in delay, 

With chuckling heart, gave swiftness to his feet. 

Seeking his cronies five, he said: "Good luck 
To-day. A coward sheep has lost his fleece! 

Here's the reward for showing manly pluck — 
A fifty prize, and that means ten apiece!" 

The princely pile his fingers deft unrolled, 
Nor long was he, with his accomplishments, 

In finding out how neatly he was sold — 
The pile, when counted, was but fifty cents! 



Philadelphia, Aug. 21st, 1889. 
Dear Sir: — To-day is my fifty-eighth birthday, and, 
for this reason, I take the liberty to anticipate your 
eightieth Anniversary by a few days, to salute you 
upon such an important occasion with the enclosed 
sonnet. Though you are twenty two years in the 
advance, yet how soon I shall be there if I am spared ! 
And should I be thus spared, that you may still be 
singing twenty -two years farther on, is the hearty wish 
of yours truly, J. D. Vinton. 

To 0. W. Holmes. 



Beverly Farms, Mass., Aug. 23d, 1889. 
My Dear Sir:— I beg you to accept my sincere thanks 
for the graceful sonnet with which you have honored 
me in the prospect of my eightieth birthday. May I 
wish you in return as many birthdays as I have had 
and as many more as you can find enjoyment in. 
Believe me very truly yours, 

Oliver Wendell Holmes. 



TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, M. D. 



On his 80th Birthday, August 29, 1889. 

Brother, although thy fourscore years are fast 
In memory's keeping, yet thy songs of old. 
Like new creations, vividly unfold. 

And hardly seem the echoes of the past. 

For but one moment need we to recast 
Them in the present, like untarnished gold, 
A public keepsake never to be sold, 

A legacy that must forever last. 

To-day we recognize that we possess 
A priceless treasure thou hast willed to men 

Out of thy toil; and now with thankfulness 
We do thee homage, knowing well that when 

Our voice is heard no more among the press. 
Thy songs shall live, the children of thy pen. 

181 



LOVE LOST. 



No love for me you bear ! Although 

With strongest words you did declare. 
Your love was true and always so— 
No love for me you bear. 

I'm looking for it in despair,— 

In every stream where it should flow. 
But cannot catch its feeblest glare; 

And oh, the pain I undergo. 

In gaining not the slightest share. 
Must e'er abide, for well I know 
No love for me you bear. 



LOVE RETURNED. 



Glove returned! O love once lost! 

For thee my heart most fiercely burned 
While on the sea of anguish tossed— 
O love returned! 

For thou dost bear, as I discerned 
Before thy stormy sea I crossed, 
The very peace for which I yearned. 

And now I will not count its cost, 

For, taught by sadness, I have learned 
That bliss restored fears no more frost, 
O love returned ! 

183 



BUGBEARS. 



Some people spend their lives in fear 

Of an imaginary foe. 
And fret and worry, year by year, 

No matter where they chance to go. 

Some mountain rises in their path; 

Some pitfall sleeps beneath their feet; 
Some friend exchanges love for wrath; 

Some confident becomes a cheat. 

Their lot is harder than aught others'; 

Their burdens harder far to bear; 
Their love refused by christian brothers- 

And thus they murmur everywhere. 

Now did they work as hard for good. 
Such fancied ills would all depart. 

And seem a load as small as would 
A huckleberry for a cart. 
184 



CHRISTMAS BELLS. 



The little folks are dreaming, 
Upon their pillows soft, 
Of fairy spirits brightly gleaming 

Up the giddy loft. 
Who, jumping, springing, dancing, singing. 

Bring such glorious things to see — 
But awful packs are on their backs! 
Who can these creatures be? 

A man so like a stranger, 
With such a funny hat. 
And strapped up like a mountain ranger, 

Merry, short and fat. 
With nimble lingers, laughing, lingers 

Round each sleeping, curley head, 
As down the flue with fuss and whew. 
He draws his merry sled. 

18S 



im CHRISTMAS BELLS. 

The dreamers, still in slumber, 
Enjoy a world of fun. 
As pretty playthings without number. 

Quickly are undone; 
Plum-cakes and candies — jumping dandies, 

Gay old Santa Glaus supplies! 
"Tis Christmas day." they hear him say. 
And off again he flies. 

T^ Children'^ Clim'vs. 
Ho! ho! the merry, merry Christmas, 
With a thousand "goodies," 
Has met us in a hurry ! 
Ring, ring the bells. 
The merry Christmas bells! 
Jing, jing, jingaling, how they ring ! 
To and fro how they go, jing, jing, jingle! 



MY DAYS. 



My days are like a mountain stream 

That glimmers down its rocky ways, 
For oft in sun or shade doth gleam 
My days. 

Sometimes I'm in a mental haze; 

Sometimes I'm floating in a dream; 
Sometimes with sunlight all ablaze: 

But were my life one golden beam, — 

No varied outlook for my gaze, 
'T would be no life— so drear would seem 
My days. 



RESTORATION. 



The world in death's dark shadow lay enchained, 

Its light gone out, its gleam through Faith's barred 
door 

No longer seen, and but the sullen roar 
Of wrath eternal in man's soul remained. 
No cheerful hope the outspread world contained. 

Nor promised land a mortal could explore; 

No lighthouse glimmer on the stormy shore 
Of Life's tempestuous sea his vision gained. 
The heavens were shut if he but raised his hands 

To ask for light that he might yet control 
His aimless spirit on earth's barren sands; 

Or if he ventured on the dangerous shole. 
Destruction frowned, for his unwise commands 

Were sure to wreck his dark, benighted soul. 

188 



II. 

But lol what new unfolding form of light 
Now draws the bars from that strong, bolted door, 
And for that wrath doth ceaseless love restore, 

Which will henceforth man to his God unite? 

From the Eternal's dwelling, swift in flight, 
Glad tidings come that will forevermore 
Make glad man's heart, for He, whom all adore. 

Against the powers of sin will bare his might. 

Immanuel ! the Grand Eternal Son ! 
That form in which man sees the counterpart, 

As visible, of the Almighty One, 
Doth condescend to feel Death's utmost smart, 

And thus undo what man unwise hath done— 
From bondage free his disobedient heart. 



SUNSET. 



I WATCHED the sunlight through the trees, 
Not long ago, just as went down 

The sun behind the western hills where seas 
Of glory bathed his kingly crown. 

The branches and the tree-tops wide 
Outspread their playful arms, green-leaved. 

Coquetting with the winds that sighed 
Among them; and though scarce perceived 

Their love exchanges — only what 

Was seen of bowing branchlets and 
Faint glimmers from the leaves outshot 

By straggling daylight contraband- 
Yet parting sunbeams glanced upon 

Those bashful leaves, so modest, shy. 
And maiden like, till all had gone, 

And left them fl\ittering silently. 



SUNSET. 191 

Still, back and forth the branches rocked 

In peaceful motion, while the sun 
Smiled on them as they interlocked 

Their friendly arms as if in fun. 

Nor did the sunbeams' parent call 
Them from the scene, but seemed to dwell 

Upon the turrets of a wall 
Of golden-tinted clouds that fell 

Around him like the softest snow 

Of Winter— could it fall in June 
And not its icy gauntlet throw — 

And for his stay did importune. 

My heart was stirred to feel once more 
That when at length the sun withdre w 

His playful children, he but bore 
Them to a feast of morning dew. 



THE DAY AFTER MY FIFTY-EIGHTH 
BIRTHDAY. 



Unto the breeze once more I hoist my sails, 
My anchor weigh, my cables haul on board, 
My compass set with aid divine implored. 

And on Life's ocean seek propitious gales. 

O'er its expanse where storm or shine prevails, 
With no known means for guidance safe ignored, 
I seek a port with hope abundant stored, 

And trust my soul if it succeeds or fails. 

As captain of my bark, I can but look 
Back on the broad expanding waves that sport 

Along the wake that marks the course I took 
From that last harbor glimpses so distort; 

But more concerned I search my guiding book 
To learn the distance to my next bound port. 

192 



A CHRISTMAS SONG. 



A WONDERFUL soDg the woild is still singing, 

A song that doth never grow old, 
Which now, as of yore, is constantly bringing 

Good news of blessings manifold: 

That mortals through Death in triumph may hold 
Their way through the realm so shadowed and dark, 
Till for th'immortal they drop the faint spark 

That fades as the mortal grows cold. 

From regions unknown beyond our short vision. 

The angels in glory still sing 
Good news to all men of pleasures elysian, 

As comes from heaven earth's new-born King, 

That mortals may fear no longer the sting 
That follows the touch of Death and the Grave, 
For clothed in bright glory his presence can save, 

And Life unto victory bring. 



L'ANGE ET L' ENFANT. 



PAR REBOUL. 

Un ange, au radieux visage, 
Penche sur le bord d 'un berceau, 

Semblait contempler son image, 
Comme dans I'onde d'un ruisseau. 

"Charmant enfant qui me ressemble, 
Disait-il, ah! viens avec moi; 

Viens, nous serons heureux ensemble; 
La terre est indigne de toi. 

"L^ jamais entiere allegresse, 
L'a,me y souffre de ses plaisirs; 

Les airs de joie ont leur tristesse 
Et les voluptes leur soupirs. 

"La crainte est de toutes les f^tes, 
Jamais un jour calm et serein 

Du choc des vents et des temp6tes 
N'a garanti le lendemain. 
194 



THE ANGEL AND THE CHILD. 



FROM THE FRENCH OF REBOUL. 

An angel with a radiant smile, 
Down in a cradle paused to look, 

Himself beholding there the while, 
As if reflected in a brook. 

"Dear child, who dost my likeness bear," 
Said he, "ah, come — yes, come with me. 

Where happiness we both may share, 
For earth unworthy is of thee. 

"Its charms can never be complete; 

Pains in the soul with pleasures rise. 
And sorrows oft all joys defeat. 

And ecstasies are lost in sighs. 

"Its feasts of -mirth fears oft transform; 

It hath no day calm and serene 
On which, from shock of wind and storm. 

To-morrow can for safety lean. 

195 



196 L 'ANGE ET L 'ENFANT. 

"Eh quoi! les chagrins, les alarmes, 
Viendraient fletrir ton front si pur, 

Et dans Famertume des larmes 
Se terniraient tes yeux d'azur. 

"Non, non, dans les champs de I'espace 
Avec moi tu vas t'envoler: 

La providence te fait grace 

Des jours que tu devais couler. 

"Que personne dans ta demeure 
N'obscurcisse ses vStements: 

Qu'on accueille ta derniere heure 
Ainsi que tes premiers moments. 

"Que les fronts y soient sans nuage. 
Que rien n'y revel6 un tombeau: 

Quand on est pur comme £i ton age, 
Le dernier jour est le plus beau." 

Et secouant ses blanches ailes, 
L'Ange, a ces mots, a pris I'essor 

Vers les demeures eternelles ! . . . 
Pauvre m^re! ton fils est mort. 



THE ANQEL AND THE CHILD. 197 

"Indeed, its troubles and its fears 
Thy lovely features would disguise, 

And in the bitterness of tears 
Bedim with grief thine azure eyes. 

"No, no, up in the fields of space 

Soon must away both you and I, 
And Providence, with favoring grace, 

In early days thus bids thee fly. 

"Let no one in thine earthly bower. 
In somber robes mourn thee forlorn, 

But hail with joy thy parting hour. 
As first the}^ hailed thy breaking morn, 

"Let not fair features clouds presage; 

Let nothing there reveal a tomb: 
When one is pure as at thine age, 

The parting day brings fairest bloom." 

Unfolding then his snow-white wings. 

The Angel, from that cradle-bed, 
Up to th'eternal dwelling springs!— 

Poor mother! thy dear son is dead! 



LA JEUNE FILLE ET L'OISEAU ENVOLI:. 



PAR J. PETIT-SENN. 

Reviens dans ta cage deserte, 
Petit oiseau, je plains ton sort: 

Aujourd'hui je pleure ta perte, 
Demain je pleurerai ta mort. 

Aux maux epars dans la nature 
En vain je voulus t'arracher; 

Je te donnais line pature 
Qu'il te faudra longtemps chercher. 

Que feras-tu pendent I'orage, 
Sous une feuille, epouvante? 

Tu pleureras ton esclavage 
En maudissant ta liberte. 

Tu me charmais par ton ramage; 

Un oiseau qui cliante est hereux, 
Mais sa joie expire au bocage 

Oh. vole un vautour dangereux. 
198 



THE YOUNG GIRL AND THE ESCAPED BIRD. 



FROM THE FRENCH OF J. PETITSENN. 

"Return to thy deserted cage! 

Dear bird, thy fate impedes my breath! 
To-day thy loss my tears presage, 

To-morrow I may weep thy death. 

"From ills that throughout nature lie, 

In vain thy safety I bespeak. 
But with my safe retreat so nigh, 

Long for its comforts shouldst thou seek. 

"What wilt thou do when storms appall? 

Beneath a leaf aif righted flee? 
Although in slavery tears did fall, 

Yet wilt thou curse thy liberty, 

"How thou didst charm me with thy song! 

Though happy be the bird that sings, 
No joys it finds the trees among 

Where murderously the vulture springs. 



300 LA JEUNE FILLE. 

Souviens-toi que de ton enfance 
Ta maitresse a tou jours eu soin; 

Que, par elle, ton existence 
Ne eonnut jamais le besoin. 

De la liberte crains les charmes, 
Vole vers moi, viens dans mes bras! 

Vols raou chagrin, taris mes larraes! 
Les oiseaux seraient-ils ingrats? 

Mais, sans ecouter sa maitresse, 
Qui longtemps le suivit des yeux, 

Porte sur une alle traitresse, 
L'oiseau se perdit dans les cieux. 

II eut raison, fuyant sa cage, 

De pref erer avec fierte 
A I'ennui de son esclavage 

Les perils de sa liberte. 



THE YOUNG OIBL. 201 

' ' Remember that from thy first day 
Thy mistress gave thee tenderest care, 

And all through life ne'er canst thou say 
The want of aught thou hadst to bear. 

" But freedom's charms are full of fears! 

Come to my arms ! Come back to me ! 
Behold my grief and weigh my tears! 

Ah! can a bird ungrateful be?" 

But, though the maid the heedless thing 
Did long time watch with tearful eye, 

Borne far away on treacherous wing, 
The bird was lost up in the sky. 

'Twas right thus from its cage to flee. 

Preferring rather, in its pride, 
The perils born with liberty. 

Than slavery's fetters to abide. 



TRUTH. 

I HARDLY know which way to turn 

My weary, aching brain, 

That it may soonest gain 
The words of Truth it tries to learn 
Awhile it doth intensely yearn 

To drop its load of pain. 

Though in uncertainty so strong — 

Because so often led 

Into a maze, instead 
Of shelter gaining from the wrong — 
I with the many rush along. 

Regardless where I tread. 

Truth do I seek; but, like a bone 
Two hungry dogs do claim, 
I look with awe and shame 
To learn which side doth best it own 
With title clear, or if unknown 
And both alike to blame. 



TRUTH. 203 

I fain would think my fellow man — 

With wisdom so beset — 

Could never Truth forget 
While mapping out his working plan, 
And yet he proves a partisan 

Spreading his wary net. 

One beckons here, another there, 

Both with inflated purses; 

But each the other curses 
In foulest manner, without care 
To act the man upon the square, 

Or deal in common mercies. 

Oft do I sit within my room 
Some new-bought book to read, 
That claims to safely lead 

Truth-seekers from their mortal gloom; 

But, as if gazing in a tomb, 
I deeper till with dread. 

Why should my neighbor but express 

His own distorted views, 

Nor leave me chance to choose 
What best would give me happiness, 
Then, if I do not acquiesce, 

My liberty abuse? 



^H TRUTH, 

Newspapers teetn with horrid tales 
Of murder, wreck and woe, 
Of floods and fire that throw 

A stream of sorrow in their trails; 

But what is Truth in their details. 
How can I ever know? 

Wise men advance great thoughts to-day- 
Perhaps o'erthrow with ease 
What yesterday did please, 

And seemed could ne'er be done away; 

Yet well I know the future may 
Overturn such thoughts as these. 

And thus I hardly know which way 
My weary brain to turn, 
That I may Truth discern, 
Since men but children seem, and they 
Who wisest would be get astray. 
And short-lived glory earn. 



SPRING BEYOND. 



Why doth the world oft seem so fair, 
Oft seem such an enchanted place. 
Then all we love and would embrace 

So quickly vanish everywhere? 

Is there not something that is sure, 
A something friendly to our sense, 
That sometimes comes, of excellence, 

A something charming, pleasing, pure? 

When Spring awakes the sleeping earth, 
And strews her countless beauties round 
In woods and fields, and trills with sound 

Of birds, and flowers have timely birth, 

How from my heart the quickening blood 
Through life's minutest channel flows. 
Till all my frame with vigor glows 

To feel once more youth's spring-time flood. 



206 SPBING BEYOND. 

'Tis then the world so fair doth seem, 
A fore-g-leam of bright sunny days, 
Wherein my feeble eye surveys 

A harvest-time of joys supreme. 

Enchained by such a vision, bright 
The world becomes, a lovely place, 
And fleecy clouds fail to efface 

The sun that holds my spell-bound sight. 

But gazing through the seasons till 
Cold Winter rears its hoary head, 
At once I seem among the dead. 

And through my heart doth strangely thrill 

A cold and sluggish stream that bears 
A death-like torpor to my soul, 
And while the clouds and tempests roll. 

My Spring is lost in winter airs. 

This comes alike to earth and man; 

Both must the varying seasons share; 

The cold and heat, the foul and fair. 
The bridge of Time alone can span. 



SPRING BEYOND. 307 

Earth oft may wake to youthful bloom 
When Winter's cold has passed away, 
Come tripping forth in Spring array 

Untarnished by the would-be tomb, — 

But man comes not. When he retires, 
And his short summer-time is o'er, 
He knows of Spring on earth no more, 

Nor for its changing joys aspires. 

But as the earth looks for its Spring, 
While wrapped within its winter dress, 
Frail man, I ween, can do no less 

Than look for one his sleep may bring. 

If Spring's return to earth is sure. 
And man to Spring no more return. 
Still for a brighter let him yearn. 

And Winter's chill in hope endure. 

Then will the world still seem as fair 
As ever in the past it seemed, 
And all its pleasures, real or dreamed. 

Their fruits in true proportion bear. 



EPIGRAMS. 



POLITICIANS. 

Politicians are a lawless set of men, 
As slimy and slippery as are squirming eels, 

Who saint you till you vote for them, and then, 
For compliment, display their mulish heels. 



THE AMERICAN VOTER. 

A FREEMAN bom in freedom's land. 

May in his sphere claim highest station, 
On Liberty's broad platform stand. 

And sneer at every other nation; 
May not believe in slavery's chains, 

Nor bow his neck to bulls or bears, 
But like a fool devoid of brains, 

Vote at the beck of millionaires. 

208 



FATE. 

PROM THE GERMAN OF GELLERT. 

Before his God once Moses went 

Upon a certain mount, 
To ask Eternal Wisdom how 

For Fate he should account. 

Then by command he from that height 
Looked down upon a plain: 

A travelling soldier by a spring 
Dismounted to obtain 

A cooling draught, and scarce had gone 

Ere from his herd a boy 
Drew near, and by the fountain saw 

What tilled his heart with joy. 

It was the bag— with gold well-filled— 
Of some one who, he feared, 

Might soon return: so, seizing it, 
He quickly disappeared. 



210 FATE. ' 

An old gray man, bowed on his staff. 
With feeble step drew near; 

He drank, and in the cooling shade 
In slumber sought for cheer. 

His heavy head sank in the grass, 
His tremblings ceased to rage. 

Till he forgot, in quiet sleep. 
The wearying weight of age. 

Meanwhile the rider had returned. 

Excited, fierce and bold; 
With wrath and oaths, from the old man, 

Demanding back his gold. 

In innocence the old man swore 
He no such thing had found, 

Protested, wept, and with strong grief, 
Upon such evil frowned. 

But, fiercer still, the rider pierced 
His pleading victim through. 

Till dead the frantic old man fell 
For what he did not do. 



FATE. 211 

Then Moses bowed him to the ground, 

Grieved at the unjust deed, 
But this voice heard : ' 'Here dost thou see 

How wrong for right must bleed. 

"Although the boy the gold secured, 

He acted not in vain; 
Know that the gray old man, now dead, 

Had that boy's father slain." 



THE BROKEN RING. 



PROM THE GERMAN OF J. VON EICHENDORFF. 

Though in a green cool valley 

A millwheel stirs the air, 
No more my voice doth rally 

My love once dwelling there. 

Her love for me, oft spoken. 

She plighted with a ring, 
Which, since her plight is broken, 

Is, too, a broken thing. 

Now I, as a musician, 

Out in the world alone, 
Would sing my heart's contrition 

From house to house, unknown. 

Or as a rider flying, 

Meet in the battle's fray. 
Or by the camp-fire lying, 

Live on the field away. 

212 



THE BROKEN RING. 313 

To hear that millwheel going, 

I know not what I'll do; 
Though death, my life off -throwing. 

Would silence quickly woo. 



NOON. 



FROM THE GERMAN OF MAYER. 

It is mid -day on the sea, 
Scarce a fish darts high and free, 
Scarce a breeze on reed-banks sighs. 
Thanks for the bliss that bids my eyes 
Watch the warm exchanges given 
Of thy loves, O Sea and Heaven! 



THE STARS. 



FROM THE GERMAN OF MATTHIUS CLAUDIUS. 

At midnight do I often gaze — 

When night my labor bars, 
And sleep with all the household plays — 

Out on the shining stars. 

I see them wander where're flung, 
Like sportive lambs in spring. 

In ranks on-moving as if strung 
Like pearls upon a string. 

They sparkle mildly far and wide; 

They sparkle clear and fair; 
I view them with the grandest pride. 

And long to keep them there. 

Then neath the heavenly vault upwhirled, 

My heart says, in my breast: 
"The pains and pleasures of this world 

Give no such perfect rest." 
214 



THE STARS. 315 

1 throw myself upon my bed, 

And long time lie awake, 
Awhile my heart attempts to wed 

The rest it longs to take. 



EPIGRAM. 



FROM THE FRENCH OF N. B. DESPREAUX. 

In vain by many outrages 
My enemies in their pages 
Have thought in the eyes of the world to load me with 
curses. 
Cotin, to decry my style, 
Assumes an easier wile, 
By attributing to me his verses. 



WHAT HAVE I WON? 



When I think of what I am, 
Then of what I ought to be, 

Wonder-startled, still I think, 
"Oh what will become of me?" 

Doing good is life's great work, 
Fraught with pleasures manifold 

For the souls that falter not. 
And the law of Kight uphold. 

But it is not what may do 

Those who round me daily move, 
That can save my hands from toil. 

Or my steadfast purpose prove. 

Ah ! how idly have passed by 
My best days with little done. 

Showing but a paltry crown 

Such poor services have won. 
216 



THE DISAPPOINTMENT. 



She stood by the half-open gate, 
With evening beginning to fall, 

As if she intended to wait 
For some one that way to call,— 
And her name was Kate. 

She gazed up the dim-lighted street, 
With dark beaming eyes, love-lit, 

That pierced through the dust and heat, 
And the shadows that seemed to flit, 
And play at her feet. 

She leaned on the gate at ease, 
As backward and forward it swung, 

With something at heart to please, 
To a soft, sweet melody sung, 
Like the hum of bees. 

217 



218 THE DISAPP0INT31ENT. 

With her tresses the zephyrs played, 
And ill her dark ringlets did hide, 

Emboldened, perhaps, by the shade 
Of eve outspreading so wide 

Round the blushing maid. 

Though of form not over tall. 
But as graceful as it was fair; 

Though a beauty for any hall. 
She stood in that summer air 
Forgetful of it all. 

There she stood with magical charms. 
Such as she alone could possess, 

Unfettered by foolish alarms 
At the hang of her neat-fitting dress. 
Or her half-bare arms. 

Though dimmer grew eve, her apron white 
Before her bewitchingly hung; 

And out to the shadows of night 
By the strings her hat was swung 
With a dainty sleight. 



THE DISAPPOINTMENT. 319 

Ah ! what a long, earnest gaze 

She cast up that shady street. 
Where had faded the sun's last rays 

From the trees whose green branches meet 
During summer days! 

And still did she stand by the gate, 
Though evening was passing away, 

Half-minded no longer to wait 
With midnight simply to play — 
Disappointed Kate! 

Her murmurous little song 
Seemed louder but sadder to grow. 

And though it was pleasant so long, 
It bore a tinging of woe, 

Of a something wrong. 

"Ah! did you not tell me to wait, 
Ere daylight should fade into night, 

Till we two should meet at the gate? 
And now will you sadly slight 
Your true-hearted Kate?" 



320 THE DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Then slowly slie turned her face, 
And sought, in the garden bower. 

Her sad disappointment to chase, 
At that dark meditative hour. 
With a womanly grace. 

Could that lover only have seen 
That picture in its every part. 

He would not have failed, I ween, 
To have scorned all the works of art 
For his beautiful queen. 



BABY ROSE. 



Oh, do you know of Baby Rose? 

Her voice— 'twould do you good to hear it 
Awhile she plays with her pink toes — 

The darling, heavenly little spirit! 

She has not yet a summer seen, 
But every day is growing playful, 

And though she knows not what they mean. 
Of childhood toys has most a tray full. 

Only behold those plump bare arms! 

That dimpled chin! That mouth and nose! 
That soundless depth of heavenly charms 

In that sweet face of Baby Rose! 

She laughs, and sports her tiny fists, 

Sucking by turns her dainty thumbs, 
Has bands around her chubby wrists. 
And ruby lips like sugarplums. 

221 



222 BABY ROSE. 

Her dimpled cheeks blush like ripe cherries; 

Her head is decked with finest silk; 
Her eyes are black like two blackberries 

Swimming in a pan of milk. 

And this is little Baby Rose ! 

A picture pleasing any mother! 
But let me ask now ere I close, 

"Can anywhere be found another? " 



A MYSTERY. 



'T WAS but a few short months ago, 
Two pretty little seeds I found, 

Whether alike I did not know, 

But cast them both into the ground. 

A few warm days of sun and rain. 
Awoke those seeds within the earth, 

And when I sought the spot again, 
Two little stalks had taken birth. 

Both grew, as two dear brothers should, 
From the same soil and side by side; 

Both promise gave of equal good, — 
Alike the sharers of my pride. 

On sped the days of sun and rain; 

The earth ne'er failed in wonted thrift; 
The little seeds ne'er sought in vain 

For Spring's invigorating gift, 

223 



224 A MYSTERY. 

Soon one of them, one pleasant morn, 
Put forth a gorgeous blossom-bell, 

And in the buds of flowers unborn, 
Still greater beauties seemed to dwell. 

The other lived without a flower. 
And, though in growth it took the lead 

And ever seemed the one of pov/er, 
'T was but a useless, poisonous weed. 

Strange is it that two little germs 
Such tiny grains so closely keep, 

That human eyes, like sightless worms, 
Can never see them while they sleep! 

What though the grand transforming change 
Wrought for them in the silent clay 

Doth bring them life? Still, just as strange. 
They in a mystery pass away. 

But tell me how both good and bad 

Draw life from the same mother's breast. 

And one be with bright beauty clad, 
The other but an ugly pest ! 



FROM THE HEART. 



Gome sing to me a song, 
Not one beyond my thoughts' command, 
So deeply hid in mystery 

I cannot understand, 

But sing a simple one, 
One not of monumental art, 
But one that like a fountain flows, 

Outpouring from the heart. 

I'm weary of those strains 
That always seem so incomplete, 
And never stir within my soul 

Thoughts of remembered sweet. 

Back in the days long past, 
Lie many a scene by Memory ranged. 
That touch a chord of sweetest tone. 

Of sweetness still unchanged. 

225 



226 FROM THE HEART. 

When such are simply told 
By some one in a simple way, 
How smoothly through my listening soul 

Do their vibrations play ! 

But when the sense of song 
Is clouded, like a foggy morn, 
'Tis then my soul doth loudly wish 

The Muses were unborn. 

In Nature 'tis not so. 
Go to her fields at morn or eve, 
Where breezes sigh, where song-birds sing, 

Where forest billows heave, 

And let thy soul drink in 
The music, pleasures, charms and sense. 
That ever flow from her fair lips 

In streams of eloquence. 

From her grand harmonies, 
My spirit doth such comfort draw. 
That oft I ask, in wonderment, 

Why man neglects her law. 



FROM THE HEART. 227 

Ah, yes, I love those songs 
Which panorama to my mind 
Youth's scenes which in life's evening thoughts 

Still feebly are outlined. 

And he who doth possess 
The Muse's gift, the poet's lyre, 
And play it well, can fill my heart 

With Hope's eternal fire. 

As drop the simple strains 
Of friendship, love, home, peace and truth, 
What blessedness! and how they bring 

Me back again to youth! 

But while in ecstasy 
I list to strains that round me pla)% 
A sense of discord pains my ear. 

And mars the sweetest lay. 

I hear a wail of woe 
At Passion's fiery stake discerned. 
Where martyred Purity, enchained, 

In innocence is burned. 



238 FROM THE HEAUT. 

I see a sensual fiend 
His new-found victim thither urge ! 
A woman lost! and with bland smile, 

Make her earth's foulest scourge !- 

Then hear his ribald song. 
By basest lust and passions wrought 
For the undoing of fair youth 

Within his meshes caught! 

I scorn such songs of Love 
In which no modesty is found, 
Which, like a serpent in the breast. 

Inflict a deadly wound. 

But sing to me a song 
At which no modest Muse would blush, 
And while you sing I'll gently bid 

My pleading spirit hush. 



THE RIDER AND THE BODENSEE.* 



FROM THE GERMAN OF GUSTAVE SCHWAB. 

The rider his journey through the vale has begun, 
On the snow-fields are glistening the rays of the sun. 

He trots in his sweat through the cold, light snow, 
For to-day he must over the Bodensee go; 

And to-day. with his horse at the ferry all right, 
Can the other side reach ere the falling of night. 

Over thorns, over stones, he takes up his course, 
And he flies over fields on his mettlesome horse. 

From the mountains out-riding to the low, level land. 
He sees the white snow wide-spreading like sand. 

Behind him afar vanish city and town, 

The way becomes even, the paths are smoothed down. 

♦Lake Constance, between Germany and Switzerland. 

229 



230 THE RIDER AND THE BODENSEE. 

The prospect lies level, no house and no hill, 
The trees and the rocks have all vanished at will. 

Thus for a few miles doth he onward fly. 
And he hears in the air the wild geese cry. 

The waterfowls hii^h their wide circles weave. 
Nor aught other sound doth his ear perceive. 

No trav'ler his eye beholds in the snow. 
Who for him can point the right way to go. 

As velvet soft will the soft snow be, 
When roar the waters, when shines the sea? 

Now the evening breaks as onward he steers. 
And a glimmer from distant home lights appears. 

And tree after tree through the fog uprises, 
And hill upon hill his sight surprises. 

He sees by the lake the stone and the thorn, 
Then gives the sharp spur as his horse hurries on. 

Now loud bark the dogs at his panting steed; 
At the warm village flres he slackens his speed. 

"Welcome at the window! Maiden, tell me, 
To the lake, to the lake, how far may it be? " 



THE RIDER AND THE BODENSEE. 231 

The maiden stared as she heard his wild note: 
"The lake is behind thee and also the boat! 

"And if the thin ice did not cover it quite, 

I should say that thou hadst just left it to-night." 

The stranger then shuddered, his breathing was pain: 
"Hither I've rode over yonder smooth plain." 

The maid uplifted her arms with a quake: 

"Lord God! then thou hast just traversed the lake! 

"O'er its dark abyss, o'er its boundless deep. 
Did the flying hoofs of thy charger sweep. 

"And beneath thee did not the dark waters dash? 
Ah! did not the ice-crust break with a crash? 

"And thou not become the food of the brute, 
Of the hungry pike in the cold flood mute? " 

She called for the village to hear the strange tale, 
And round her collected the boys of the vale; 

The mothers and grandsires with greetings came: 
"O fortunate man! we acknowledge thy fame! 

"Come in to the stove, to the steaming dish. 
Break with us our bread and eat of our fish." 



232 THE RIDER AND THE BODENSEE. 

The rider benumbed from his horse unstirred, 
Has caught but the sound of the first uttered word. 

His heart stops beating, erect stands his hair. 
Behind him so near groans the cave of despair. 

His eye only sees a ghastly abyss. 

His spirit sinks down where the seething floods hiss. 

There are thunders he hears like the breaking of ice; 
The cold sweat starts from his brow in a trice. 

Then groaning and sinking he drops from his horse. 
And there on the shore is a grave for his corse. 



DREAMING. 



In some fair Southern clime, oh, would that I 

Retreat might find from Northern storms and cold 
Bleak winds that chill my frame, now growing old. 

Where Winter spreads no more its frigid sky. 

I dream of orange groves, and, with a sigh, 
Believe half real what those dreams imfold; — 
Dream, too, of sweet magnolias, and behold 

The famed Arcadian shores where I would fly. 

But though at morn those visions pass away. 

Rough storms still rage and wintry winds still blow, 

And wandering fancies thus my love betray, 
Yet on my toilsome journey still I go. 

Dreaming each night that mid such scenes I play, 
Longings for which my soul can ne'er outgrow. 

233 



BERGIDYLLE. 



VON HEINE 

AuF dem Berge sleht die Hlitte, 
Wo der alte Bergmann wohnt; 

Dorten rauscht de grline Tanne, 
Und erglauzt der gold'ne Mond. 

In der Hlitte steht ein Lehnstuhl, 
Reich geschnitzt und wunderlich, 

Der darauf sitzt, der ist gliicklich, 
Und der Gllickliche bin Ich ! 

Auf dem Scheniel sitzt die Kleine, 
Stiitzt den Arm auf meinen Sohooss; 

Aeuglein wie zwei blaue Sterne, 
Mlindlein wie die Purpurros'. 

Und die lieben blauen Sterne 
Schau'n mich an so liimmelgross, 

Und sie legt den Lilienfinger 
Schalkhaft auf die Purpurros': 
234 • 



A MOUNTAIN IDYL. 



FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINE. 

In the hut upon the mountain, 
Dwells the miner past life's noon, 

Where the dark green fir-tree rustles, 
Where doth glance the golden moon. 

In that hut there stands an arm-chair. 
Which with richest art may vie; 

He who therein sits is happy. 
And that happy one am I. 

On the stool there sits a dear one. 
On my lap her arm she throws, 

Like blue stars her two eyes glistening, 
And her mouth a purple rose. 

Then those dear blue stars upon me 
With a heavenly beauty shine, 

And she lays her lily finger 
Slyly on that rose divine. 

23 



BERGIDYLLE. 

"Nein, es sieht uns nicht die Mutter, 
Denn sie spinnt mit grossem Fleiss, 

Und der Yater spielt die Zither, 
Und er singt die alte Weis' ! " 

Und die Kleine fllistert leise, 
Leise, mit gedampftem Laut; 

Mancbes wichtige Geheimniss 
Hat sie mir schon anvertraut. 

"Aber seit de Muhme todt ist, 
Konnen wir ja nicbt mebr geb'n 

Naeb dem Scbiitzenbof zu Goslar, 
Dorten ist es gar zu schon. 

"Hier dagegen ist es einsam, 
Auf der kalten Bergeshoh', 

Und des Winters sind wir ganzlich 
Wie begraben in dem Schnee. 

Und ich bin ein banges Madchen, 
Und ich f iircht' mich wie ein Kind 

Vor den bosen Bergesgeistern. 
Die des Nachts geschaf tig sind." — 



A MOUNTAIN IDYL. 237 

"No, the mother does not see us. 
To her spinning-wheel she clings; 

Father is his zither playing, 
To the olden songs he sings." 

And the dear one softly whispers, 
Soft as softest breeze e'er stirred; 

Many an important secret 

Have mine ears from her lips heard. 

"Ever since my aunt was buried, 

We no longer can repair 
To the shooting-ground at Goslar, 

Where it always seemed so fair. 

"Here it ever seems so lonely, 
On this hill where chill winds blow. 

And in winter we are really 
As if buried deep in snow. 

"And I'm such a timid maiden. 

That I fear, as doth a child,— 
Fear the wicked mountain spirits, 

Which at midnight rave so wild. " 



BEROIDYLLE. 

Plotzlich schweigt die liebe Kleine, 
Wie vom eig'nen Wort erschreckt, 

Und sie hat mit beiden Hiindchen 
Ihre Aeugelein bedeckt. 

Lauter rauschet die Tanne braussen, 

Und das Spinnrad sehnurrt und brummt, 

Und die Zither klingt dazwischen, 
Und die alte Weise summt: 

"Fiircht Dich nicht, Du liebes Kindchen! 

Vor der bosen Geister Macht; 
Tag und Nacht Du liebes Kindchen, 

Halten Englein bei Dir Wacht," 



A MOUNTAIN IDYL. 339 

Suddenly the child is silent. 

As through fear these thoughts uprise, 
And her little hands are folded 

Softly o'er her sweet blue eyes. 

Loud without the fir-tree rustles, 
Loud the spindle hums and rings, 

And the zither, meanwhile sounding, 
Guides the voice that softly sings: 

"Fear thee not, thou child beloved, 

Thus the angry spirit's power! 
Day and night, thou child beloved. 

Angels guard thee hour by hour." 



GEBET. 

VON IDA HAHN-HAHN. 

Lass, o Herr, zii deinen Fiissen, 
Gleich der gliih'nden Magdalene, 

Alle Thranen mich vergiessen, 
Dass ich mich dem Schmerz versohne ! 

Nich mit Balsam, mir mit Zahren, 

Herzentquollnen, nahe ich; 
Ach, sie konnen dich nicht ehren, 

Aber, Herr, sie trosten mich. 

( Translation. ) 
A PRAYER. 

At thy feet, O Lord, unceasing. 
Like the ardent Magdalene's, 

Let my tears, to floods increasing, 
Stream atoning for my sins! 

Not with balsam nor with weeping, 
Nor with heart-throbs, find I Thee; 

Ah, they're worthless for Thy keeping, 
But, O Lord , they comfort me ! 
240 



ENIGMA. 



FROM THE FRENCH OF NICOLAS BOILEAU DE8PREATJX. 

Du repos des humains implacable ennemle, 

J'ai rendu mille amans envieux de men sort. 
Je me repais de sang, et je trouve ma vie 
Dans le bras de celui qui recherche ma mort. 

( Une puce.) 
( Translation. ) 
An implacable foe to human repose, 

I make many lovers to envy my state; 
I revel in blood and find my life flows 
, In the arm of him who my death doth await. 

{A flea.) 



DAS KIND DER SORGE. 



VON HERDER. 

EiNST sass am murmelden Strome 
Die Sorge nieder und sann, 

Da bildet im Traum' der Gedanken 
Ihr Finger ein leimernes Bild. 

"Was hast du, sinnende Gottin? " 
Spricht Zeus, der eben ihr nah't. 

Ein Bild, von Thone gebildet; 
Beleb's, ich bitte dich, Gott." 

" Wohlan, ich will es! Es lebe! 

Doch mein sei dieses Geschopf." — 
Dagegen redet die Sorge : 

"Nein, lass es, lass es mir, Herr! 

Mein Finger hat es gebildet."— 
"Und ich gab Leben dem Thon','' 

Sprach Jupiter. Als sie so sprachen 
Da trat auch Tellus hinan. 



THE CHILD OF CARE. 



FROM THE GERMAN OF HERDER. 

Once down beside a murmuring stream 

Sat Care in meditation, 
Where Fancy taught her finger deft, 

To form an image of clay. 

"What, musing goddess, hast thou there?' 
Spake Zeus, while drawing near her. 

"From clay I have an image formed; 
Give it life, I pray thee, god! " 

"Well, I will do it!— See, it lives! 

But mine this creature must be." 
But to this speech thus answered Care: 

" No, Lord, leave— leave it for me! 

" My finger hath the image made! " — 

"And I gave life to the clay," 
Said Jupiter. While thus they spake 

Before them Tellus appeared. 

243 



244 BAS KIND DER SORGE. 

"Mein ist's, sie hat mir genommen 
Von meinen Schoosse das Kind." 

"Wohlan," sprach Jupiter, harret; 
Dort kommt ein Entscheider, Saturn. 

Saturn sprach: "habet es alle! 

So will's das hohe Geschick. 
Du, der das Leben ihm schenkte, 

Nimra, wenn es stirbet, den Geist; 

Du, Tellus, sine Gebeine 
Denn mehr gehoret dir nicht; 

Dir, seiner Mutter, o Sorge 
Wird es im Leben geschenkt." 

Des Schicksals Spruch ist erfuUet, 
Und Mensch heisst dieses Geshopf ; 

Im Leben gehort es der Sorge, 
Der Erd' im Sterben und Gott. 



THE CHILD OF CARE, 246 

*"Tis mine, for she hath formed for me 
Out from my bosom the child." * 

"Indeed," said Jupiter, "but wait, 
For Saturn comes to decide. " 

Then Saturn spake: "All have a share! 

So Fate supreme hath revealed ; 
Thou, who on it hast life bestowed. 

Take, when it dies, the spirit. 

And, Tellus, thou shalt take its bones, 

No more to thee doth belong; 
To thee, O Care, its mother. 

Will it through life be given." 

And thus is Fate's decree fulfilled. 
In this new creature called man; 

In life does it to Care belong. 
In death to Earth and God. 



HUM CORAgAO COMO O MEU. 



FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF MANUEL MARIA. 

MiLHARES de maravilhas 
Tern Jove em tudo o que he seu, 

Mas nao tem nesse thesouro 
Hum cora9ao como o meu. 

Deste, Amor, a minha Amada 
Hum semblante como o teu: 

Amor, porque Ihe nao deste 
Hum coragao como o meu? 

{Translation.) 

A HEART LIKE MINE. 

Thousands of wonderful things 

Has Jove in care divine, 
But 'mong those treasures he has not 
A heart like mine. 

Love, thou hast given to my beloved 

A countenance like thine: 
But why to her hast thou not given 
A heart like mine? 



TO MY ABSENT ONE. 



Oh how I long to see thee, dearest, 
And for thee sigh day after day, 
Believing that my voice thou hearest, 
Although so very far away: 
Yet sleepless, restless, in my lone chamber, 

I list to hear what the breezes say. 
But only this I sadly remember. 
That thou art far. very far away. 
Ah! sadly remember 
That thou art far away! 

Oh how for thee my heart doth languish, 
Most sadly sighing day by day! 

Dost thou not feel the pangs of anguish 
That on my bosom heavily weigh? 

247 



TO MY ABSENT ONE. 

Ah! what false scenes my spirit encumber, 
When Nature's mandates I would obey! 
I see thee near, then wake to remember 
That thou art far, very far away. 
Yes, sadly remember 
That thou art far away! 

For thy return I'm longing, waiting, 

My sighs outpouring day by day, 
With love undying, unabating, 
E'en though thou art so far away. 
Yes, cheerless, restless, though I may slumber, 

While cheating visions around me play 
And bring thee near, yet must I remember, 
Thou still art far, very far away, 
Yes, sadly remember 
That thou art far away! 



OUT OF ITS NEST. 



Out of its nest a baby sparrow fell 

Into my yard one day, and seemed at best 
By far too young thus all alone to dwell 
Out of its nest. 

I loved and fed and petted my poor guest, 

And guarded it as would a sentinel, 
Till stronger grew its tender little breast. 

The mother bird oft came and seemed to tell 

It something,— of green fields, of sweeter rest; 
And soon 't was gone— my baby bird that fell 
Out of its nest. 

• 249 



IMITAgAO ANACREONTICA. 

MANOEL MARIA. 

Emtorno de aurea colm§a 
Amor adejava hum dia, 

E, a maozinha introduzindo, 
Humidos favos colhia. 

Abelha, mais forte que eu, 

Porque de Amor nao tern medo, 

Eis do guloso Menino 

Castiga o furto n'um dedo. 

Chupando o tenro dedinho, 
Entra Cupido a chorar. 

E ao collo da Mai voando. 
Do insecto se vai queixar. 

Venus carinhosa, e bella 
Diz, amimando-o no peito; 

,,Desculpa o que te lizerao, 
Recordando o que tens feito. 



IMITATION OF ANACREON. 



PROM THE PORTUGUESE OP MANOEL MARIA. 

Round where a golden beehive stood. 
Love lingered in his flight one day, 

And putting in his little hand, 
Some honey slily took away. 

A bee— stronger than I because 

It has no fear with Love to linger — 

Quick for the theft the greedy boy 
Did punish on his dainty finger. 

Sucking the finger's painful wound, 
Cupid could not his tears restrain, 

But sought with haste his mother's lap, 
Of the bad insect to complain. 

But Venus, ever kind and fair. 

Said— fondling him upon her breast— 

"Excuse what they to thee have done, 
Remembering those b}'^ thee distressed. 

251 



253 IMITACAO ANAGREONTTCA. 

O tenue ferrao da abelha 
Doe menos que teus farpoes: 

O que ella te fez no dedo 
Fazes tu nos cora96es. 



EPIGRAMMA. 



MANGEL MARIA. 

Hum Filosofo enfermou. 

Nao tinha mal de perigo, 
Mas soffreo a Medicina, 

Por agradar a hum amigo. 

Consentio que receitasse 
Hypocratico Impostor, 

E logo pani hum criado 
Disse, brando, e sem tremor: 

,,Nao deixes la na Botica 
Esse amargo fructo do erro; 

Inda tern mais serventia: 
Supre OS escritos de enterro. 



IMITATION OF ANACREON. 253 

"The little bee with its small sting 
Gives far less pain than do thy darts: 

What on thy finger she has done, 
To us thou doest in our hearts." 



EPIGRAM. 



FROM THE PORTUGUESE OP MANOEL MARIA. 

A PHILOSOPHER fell sick; 

No danger did his ill attend. 
But a physician was called in 

To gratify a friend. 

Consented he that might prescribe 

The Hypocratian impostor, 
But to a servant, shortly after, 
Said softly, without tremor: 

"Don't leave with the apothecary 
This bitter-fruit averment, 

For better use it hath by far— 
A writing for interment." 



TO A CAGED BIRD, 



Ah! why art thou imprisoned here, 
Thou harmless, charming little bird? 

Why must these bars thus interfere, 
And freedom be so long deferred? 

My heart is pained at thy sad fate, 
For well I know thy glossy wing 

For swiftest flight is adequate, 

Couldst thou but from this prison spring. 

I see thy kindred merrily 

In tree and bush and meadow fly, 

And think what must thy grievings be. 
Since thou a slave art doomed to die. 

I hear thee sing: alas! the song 

Doth to my ear a sorrow bear. 
And 'tis because I feel it 's wrong 

To bar thee thus from earth's free air. 
254 



TO A CAQED BIRD. 355 

1 could not raise a song were I 

Like thee by unjust force denied 
My priv'leged birthright to the sky, 

To woods and fields outspreading wide. 

Thy mistress has a noble heart, 

Doth for thee care most tenderly. 
Gives every comfort known to art,. 

But ah ! forgets thy slavery. 

She does not think what joy would fill 

Her little captive's heart, were it 
Allowed in Nature's ear to trill 

Its songs, and in the sunshine flit. 

But, Birdy, I can only speak 

For thee and tell how sad I feel 
That thou, so innocent and meek. 

For all thy wrongs hast no appeal. 



MY FIFTY-NINTH BIKTHDAY. 



Another port is reached. Not far from shore 
Has been my course, and a propitious breeze 
Has blown me safely o'er the varying seas 

Which my commission bids me to explore. 

Out on the deep unknown I bravely bore 
From my last harbor; — passed with ease 
Where tropics burn and arctic winters freeze. 

And now I hail my native hills once more. 

My ship has stood the strain of storm and sea; 
Its masts and spars are strong, its cables sure, 

Its needle true, its sails still floating free, 

Its keel, unharmed, both ice and rock endure. 

And though I know not what its fate may be, 
Still in it trusting will I rest secure. 

256 



THE DEAD OLD YEAR 



It was a strange, mysterious world. 

Where countless beings seemed to pass 
Before me, as, in visions whirled, 

Would go the'ever surging mass 
Of a great city filled with fear, 

When, by some vast convulsion, shook 
Earth's deep foundations far and near; 

And while they passed I seemed to look 
With natural eye, with sight unchanged, 
Nor wholly from the earth estranged. 
Yet who they were and whither bent. 
Excited much my wonderment. 

For Presidents and Monarchs dead 
Oft had I witnessed nations shed 
Their tears of grief, and everywhere 
The garbs of deepest mourning wear, 

267 



258 THE DEAD OLD YEAR. 

And venerate the silent dust 
Of one they held in sacred trust. 

But such a throng as now swept by. 
My eyes had ne'er before surveyed; — 
So fearless some and some afraid, 

Some sorrowing with a tearful eye, 
Some filled with highest ecstasy, 
Some shackles bearing, others free. 

Some rashly pressing uncontrolled, 
Some strong in life, some soon to die. 

Some beggars poor, some rich in gold, — 
All so intent — I knew not why. 

My spirit drooped when near a tomb 

I saw a catafalque set down; 
Within 1 saw was spacious room. 

Sufficient for the mightiest crown; 
Light gleamed above, but shadows found 
A foothold in the deep dug ground. 
Around it tireless hands had wrought. 
And marble traced for afterthought. 
Recounting deeds of bravery rare, 
A record mausoleums bear 



THE DEAD OLD YEAR. 

As honors by a people shown 
To one departed from a throne. 
And thus I knew — unknown before — 
Some mighty ruler was no more. 

Intently now mj'^ eyes were strained 

To see the pall devoutely raised 
From off that casket richly chained 

With links of gold; and then, amazed. 
Beheld the people prostrate bow, 
While was removed the cofiin-lid, 
Revealing what was 'neath it hid, — 
A powerless monarch in his shroud, 
The worshipped ruler of that crowd. 

'Twas then I, too, dropped memory's tear, 
For there I saw the dead "Old Year." 



WINTER. 



Once more hath cold, cold Winter's breath. 
With freezing- power, returned again 
And silently directs its shafts of death 
O'er all the land lake, hill and plain. 

When Summer's hottest days held sway. 
It seemed as if stern Winter's chill 
Would most delightful be, and bring to bay 
My fretful and complaining will. 

For days and weeks to be weighed down 
With such oppressive, stifling heat, 
Makes human nature oft rebel, and frown 
That it can find no cool retreat. 

Ah, fretful mortal ! how thy dreams 

Expand with beauty and delight, 

Just like a picture, though the real seems 

The outcome of a hideous uight. 



WINTER. 261 

Unsatisfied with what thou hast, 
Thou yearn'st for something unattained, — 
For future pleasures like an ocean vast, 
And, like a mirage, never gained. 

So I did yearn for Winter's cold, 
Believing that it bore a charm 
That could mj^ boiling blood its temper hold, 
And Summer of its heat disarm. 

Behold! the change has come at last! 
A burning heat no more I feel, 
But rough, ice-breathing storms go raging past, 
At which my heart's-blood doth congeal. 

Now do I wish, in Winter's stead, 
That Summer could step in once more, 
For, like all else, my heart seems well-nigh dead, 
And glad would bear the heat of yore. 



SPEECHLESS. 



''What is the Universe," I often ask, 

And listen to my soul for its reply; 

And though to tell me doth my Mentor try. 
It sadly fails at its herculean task. 
But when in sunshine in the tields I bask. 

Or range with telescope the starry sky. 

Or, turning, look with microscopic eye 
For smaller atoms hid 'neath Nature's mask. 
And realize how short on either hand 

My mortal vision is that scarce can reach 
The first laid line, and that not understand; 

How brightest reason only fails to teach 
What to infinity doth aye expand, 

I wonder not my soul is without speech. 



SATISFIED. 



I SEE no reason for complaining 

That I an undue burden bear, 
Although my pleasures often waning, 

May make life seem a life of care. 

I often think of blessings flowing 
From my great Master's bounteous hand, 

To check my grieving thoughts upgrowing 
At pains I do not understand. 

Through all the darkest nights a glimmer 
Of cheerful hope— though weak it be — 

Like coming morn, grows nothing dimmer, 
But gives a strength that comforts me. 

So when a cloud doth chance to wander 

Along the sky above my head. 
Still will I look for blessings yonder, 

Nor ever find my faith misled. 



'GOOD-BY TO ALL. 



GooD-BY to all ! So flies the day 

And tinges life with parting gall, 
For when it goes we always say 
"Good-by toall." 

No matter where our lot may fall; 

Be it at work or be it play, 
We surely hear the warning call: 

Yet, though for us there's no delay, 

Life's brightest hopes will we forestall 
While saying, as we pass away, 
"Good-by to all." 
2e4 



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